Tears fall like rain
by Pinkjimmychoos
Summary: Nadia uncovers a terrorist cell & her life is instantly in jeopardy. Told from different characters perspectives. Angstyhumour. Romance. PostSeason6. NadiaDoye, Jack, ChloeMorris, BillKaren. **MULTI-CHAPTER****COMPLETE**
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE: The Nature of the job..**

**A/N:** Ok, so another Doyle/Nadia story! What can I say? I'm hooked and they're so much fun to write about! This story has no relation to my other one, and is told from the characters POV in first person, based six months after Season 6. It's kind of (hopefully) action-y and switches between characters at various places in the story. I thought it would be interesting to do it that way so we can see how they think. Going to throw some other characters POV's in there as well (Chloe, Bill, maybe even Jack's), as the story progresses. Hope you like the first couple of chapters. Reviews appreciated and they make me write faster.

**Disclaimer:** Most of the characters ain't mine. I wish they were because then you could _guarantee_ both Ricky and Marisol would be back in Season 7. Nope, they belong to um, what's that production company called again…? Some of the characters DO belong to me however, and I'm having fun playing with them. I wish _real_ people were this easy to manipulate..

**Rating:** Lots of language and a suggestion of adult themes, so let's give it an M. Just because I follow the rules.

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_**Doyle…**_

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I never wanted to hurt her, but the second my hands had closed around her throat, I could see that was _exactly_ what I'd done.

It's the worst part of my job- interrogating suspects. Despite how skilled I am out in the field, but contrary to popular belief, I really don't "get off" on torturing people. Those ridiculous rumours started way back when I first got out of the academy and since then they've kind of escalated and taken on a mind of their own. Just because I graduated with commendations in fieldwork and clandestine operations, particularly with interrogation techniques, some people seem to think I'm the anti-Christ. I have the somewhat notorious reputation throughout CTU offices of being 'ruthless.' 'Cold.'

Whatever. It's not like it bothers me that much or even like I play up to the tag.

Anyway, we're kind of getting a little off-track here.

So, as I calmly sat down facing her in that cramped holding room that day, my eyes were imploring her to tell me the truth as I looked up at her bewildered face. To _tell me the truth_, not to make this harder than it needed to be.

I didn't want to hurt anyone. Especially not her. The resentment I could so clearly see in those eyes of hers kind of socked me right in the gut, y'know? Usually it's all to easy to ignore the feelings of those I'm interrogating, because usually I can see right off they're guilty but with her it was different from the start and the usually logical side of my brain was telling me that in this instance, the facts just didn't add up. Maybe it's because she was a beautiful woman or something and I could quite clearly sense how confused and frightened she was, I don't know, it just felt _off_ somehow. My heart just wasn't in it this time.

Focus Mike, focus.

In that room she was defiant, arrogant- proud as I loomed over her doing my whole bad cop scenario. I kind of admired that about her. She was adamant that despite all the evidence presenting itself, she was not working with terrorists. _She was innocent_.

It's not like I never heard that excuse before. Hell, there were nuclear weapons out there and I snapped, frustrated. All I wanted was answers. I usually got them, _she _was going to be no different. So, I resorted to violence, ignoring what was staring me right in the face all along: the whole goddamn time she'd been telling me the truth.

I wasn't proud of my behaviour.

Afterwards when I had to let her go, she'd spat insults at me, and her accusations hurt. She was so angry and humiliated at what I'd just put her through.

I didn't know _why_ it mattered so much to me what she _thought _about me or _thought she knew_ about me, but looking down into those fiery brown eyes of hers that glistened with unshed tears, and seeing the imprint of my fingers outlined on the delicate skin of her neck, I knew that it did. I actually cared what she thought about me. For the first time in a long while it seemed to matter to me what someone else actually thought about me.

I wanted to prove to her that whatever she'd heard, it was wrong.

But first, it was time to concentrate on the job in hand.

To my surprise, she came right back to work after the whole interrogation business. If that had been me, I would have been too pissed off to do anything as I can be kind of hot-headed like that. I was mortified that I'd read her so wrong and had even considered she could be a traitor, my apologies seemed so inadequate.

Futile.

She'd really hate me now and I knew I deserved it.

I couldn't look her in the eye at first, I felt so remorseful for how I treated her in that room. I _scared _her.

Fair enough, sometimes I kind of enjoy a power trip, but it certainly wasn't warranted with her, or justified.

Over the next 12 hours of that horrific day, in fits and starts, I think I managed to redeem myself with her in some way, though I don't exactly know what I did, but I felt that we maybe reached some kind of understanding.

I wouldn't have described myself as being in her good graces exactly, but I felt that on some level, she got me. It was there in the way she looked at me, scrutinising me like she was trying to read me and the nuances in her voice when she spoke to me. She started the day off kind of impatiently and indifferent toward me, but approaching the end I could see her becoming more relaxed, more accepting of me I guess.

She knew that deep down I wasn't the heartless bastard that everyone perceived me to be, this women that I barely knew and it kind of scared me a little how she seemed to get me so well. It's the nature of the job, that's all- cause's people to act rashly, perhaps even a little extreme. Doing something like this… it eventually gets to everybody.

Some people more than others. I think maybe she started to realise that.

When she'd urged me to "be careful" before I went out into the field that time, I thought there was more she wanted to say to me, but her eyes were hooded, shielding her true emotions, kind of how I do.

I'm an expert at keeping things hidden, locked away. With her though, something in me suddenly and inexplicably shifted. I wanted her to see me for the person that I really am. Away from all this. When I'm not constantly tormented by the thoughts of work and the 'shoulda, woulda, coulda's' that always seem to weave their way through my mind.

I merely nodded at her considerate urging, face impassive as always, but wanting to say more to her though I know I never will. To thank her for her worry, amazed that she even appears to give a damn about me, to say sorry for being such a bastard...

Sorry for hurting her.

I suspect it will always be that way with us- so many things will forever be left unsaid, but that's the nature of the job, and I guess the way it needs to be.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chaos at CTU**

**A/N: **Set from Doyle's perspective when he heads back to CTU and instantly finds himself amid a chaotic situation. Hope you like it…

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_**Doyle…**_

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It was five months later when I headed back to CTU LA, more or less fully recovered from those multiple god-awful operations that managed to give me back the majority of my sight.

I was dumb enough to get caught in the face with an explosive device. Not exactly smart for a field agent to land themselves in that kind of predicament, especially one who's supposed to be heading up the whole operation.

It totally sucked being in the hospital, but at least I wasn't blinded for life, I sure got lucky. So many other people that day had it worse. Bombs were on the loose all over the place, one even went off in Valencia. To say that was pretty bad would be an understatement.

These past few months I've been in and out of rehabilitation, the hospital.. back to Denver. I've felt like a ping pong ball, not really sure of where I belong or fit in any more. I stayed in an LA hospital the first couple of weeks after the accident and they performed the first operation, which was to remove all of the shrapnel from my eyes and clean up my face which is thankfully looking a lot less melted than it did, which is down to all the skin grafts I had. I didn't know what was going on really which I'm pretty grateful for given the gravity of the situation- I was so doped up on meds and hooked up to an IV.

When I came round and was lucid enough to realise what _was_ going on, I was back in Denver, in some kind of private medical clinic there. My eyes were all bandaged up. My older brother, Ben, was sat by my bedside, chiding me for being such a dumb-ass and blowing myself up and although I couldn't see nothin' it was reassuring to know that I could hear him and his merciless teasing that I looked a Ninja turtle with all the bandages on my face. He came by after work most days and sat with me. Sometimes I was silent and more often than that I was angry, which is kind of normal with me.

The teasing did kind of help me bypass the rest of what was going on in hospital, namely the fact I had to have someone accompany me to the bathroom, the shower…

Freakin' embarrassing. Especially for someone like me, who really hates people having to help me with anything.

For the first couple of days I was back to being fully conscious I had a hell of a headache, my face felt like it was on fire and I kept having these god-awful nosebleeds. Some kinds of side effects of having that stupid fake component blowing up in my face as my sinuses were probably permanently damaged. I also constantly felt dizzy and the doctor told me that my hearing had been damaged partially in the blast therefore affecting my balance.

Fantastic.

Want to hit me with anything else while we're at it?

Seriously, whilst I was so pleased to still be _alive_, I felt kind of… pathetic. The doctors told me that they didn't know if my sight would ever come back fully and that I'd always have these repercussions from the incident. Guess that's my career right out the window then.

Y'see, Field Ops was the only thing I was ever really good at. Even when I was training at the academy I kind of sucked at all the more intellectual stuff. I was never really good at languages and didn't exactly have the head for numbers and figures. Take from it what you will, but I was always better at the more physical kind of stuff, which is why when I was told I might lose my capacity to do all that, it bothered me so much.

So, I brooded a while. Ben brought his three monstrous kids to see me and they cheered me up slightly, wreaking havoc with the nurses and playing around with the settings on my bed so they folded me up like a concertina. When there was no one there though, my thoughts tended to head off to another place and I kind of admit they tended to head onto Nadia Yassir.

I don't honestly know what it was about her that rattled me so much that day. I mean sure, she's hot, I realised that right off. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only guy at CTU who wonders what it would be like to get her in the sack, but it's more than that. She's so damn strong and intelligent and when I was lying there in that hospital bed, I wondered about her.

Would I ever see her again? Hell, would I ever see _anyone _again?

How was she doing after that whole Milo thing? I felt that maybe we'd had some kind of connection that day, but maybe I was wrong. I was so full of self-doubt that it was untrue.

Did she maybe wonder about me? About how I was doing?

I knew after what I had put her through that day, my brutal interrogation of her, I had no right even to be _thinking_ about her, but I just couldn't help it. She'd gotten right under my skin. I kept remembering how we'd argued, about how she'd looked so defeated when Milo had died. Hell, I wanted to hug her then, but something held me back.

My damn inability to actually let go of my emotions, I guess.

Then I go and get blown up and I'll probably never see her again… the thoughts kept flooding my mind and I even dreamed about her.

After my second operation, the doctors told me that there was a fighting chance that I might be able to see again after all- the damage I'd sustained, at least to my left retina, wasn't as bad as they'd initially thought.

I can't tell you the relief that hit me then. Even to be half-blinded was better than to have full loss of sight. I just wanted to get out of this dark world.

A couple of days after my third operation and yet more skin grafts down the right side of my face, to my surprise, Ben came into the hospital and tossed some kind of package at me.

I was in kind of a chirpy mood, the day before, during one of my consultations I'd had the bandages off and doctors told me that they'd managed to save seventy percent of the vision in my left eye and at least sixty percent in my right. They were even confident that with laser surgery and some kind of rehab and therapy programme, it'd be even better than that and I might actually be able to drive a car again, maybe return to work.

"What is it?" I asked, feeling the paper packaging curiously.

"I don't know," he said, "but it's addressed to you, care of me, want me to open it?"

"I can do it.." I felt carefully around the lumpy packaging's sellotape and pulled it open carefully. A couple of hard boxes fell out. CD cases. I was surprised.

"There's a note too," Ben was trying to keep the amusement from his voice, "I opened that, kind of figured you could use the help."

"What does it say?"

"It says: Mike, your brother told me that your sight's getting better all the time. I'm glad. Hope these help with your stay in hospital and maybe we'll see you back at work soon. Nadia.."

My mouth fell open a little. I swear to god I was so shocked.

"Nadia? You _spoke_ to her?" I was uncomfortably aware that my voice sounded kind of squeaky and coughed, "I mean: you spoke to her?" There. More manly.

Ben sounded like he was smiling. "Sure did. She's called the house a couple of times asking after your welfare. Who is she, little brother?"

I ran my hand over the edge of the cd cases a little uncertainly feeling the rigid plastic, "a woman I worked with in LA. What CD's are they?"

"Rock music, she asked me what groups you liked, I _was_ going to tell her the BeeGees but figured you'd whup my ass when you get out of here. And don't change the subject."

I leaned back against the pillow, a little overwhelmed that she'd even cared enough to ask how _I _was and even send me a gift. Especially after the way I'd treated her and when she obviously had so much other stuff going on. I wanted to ask Ben what he'd said to her and what she'd said back, but I didn't want it to seem like I cared. He would tease me relentlessly if he knew I liked her. It's always been like that, ever since we were kids. "Do you um, think you could thank her for me, if she calls back?"

"Sure little brother," Ben sounded kind of impatient with me and I know he was wondering why I didn't thank her myself, but the thought of speaking to her again, even over the phone, was enough to give me a stomach ache and make my heart kind of race a little bit faster.

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So now here I am, its five months later and I'm pulling into the car park at CTU, feeling nervous as hell that I'm back.

Buchanan talked me into transferring back to LA permanently. He temporarily quit as Director after a whole bunch of crap happened with President Wayne Palmer, I don't exactly know what as he glossed over the details with me, but then for some reason, he was re-instated, which I'm kind of glad about. He's a good guy. Fair.

He eventually persuaded me to come back to CTU in some kind of telephone charm offensive which was a little unnerving at first as he was so damn insistent, and said that I could head up tactical right out of the LA office, which I guess was the impetus. Denver really didn't hold a lot of interest for me anymore and there wasn't really anything for me to do there. I couldn't go back and work in Field Ops which was all they had for me, my altered vision has some kind of impact on my spatial awareness- though it's improving all the time, I can fire a gun, though nowhere _near_ as well aimed as I did, and I guess I'm kind of an insurance risk to them. I understood, and to be honest was kind of grateful for the chance of a fresh start. Denver has too many damn memories.

The bottom line was- I _really_ wanted to be back in LA.

Heading up tactical was sort of like what I was doing out in the field, I mean, aside from the fact that I wouldn't be out there, it would be kind of exciting to head up operations again. See it from a different perspective.

Plus, if I felt like I was going to pass out or had another nosebleed or something then I would be right in the office and wouldn't put anyone else at risk. Bonus.

So now, I'm sitting in my sedan and looking up at the building. It's kind of bizarre that from the outside it looks like a generic office building, nothing to suggest government-owned or anything, but when you head inside its all sleek and sophisticated technology and guys running around with machine guns and Kevlar vests.

Oh yeah- that's something that I think might piss me off a little- seeing the Field Ops guys head out without me. Never mind. At least I'm here, I have a career again. Must keep reminding myself of that fact.

I lock up the car and head into the reception area, flashing my credentials to the guy on the desk. I don't think he's the same one as last time from what I remember, but staff turnover is pretty high here, for reasons I don't really want to comment on or think about.

"Bill Buchanan is expecting you Agent Doyle," the guy says jovially, consulting some kind of visitor log in front of him and tossing it at me as I sign myself in, "report to him on the floor when you get inside."

"Thanks," I scrawl my name and am then knocked off balance all of a sudden. I think at first I'm having a dizzy spell even though it's been a good few months since my last one, but then I see some guy has left the building in a real hurry and crashed right into me.

"Hey! Watch it!" I exclaim in annoyance, straightening up.

The guy glances back, barely looks at me, and then carries on out the door.

"Jerk," I mutter, heading upstairs.

I'm a little nervous, surprisingly, which is bizarre as I don't ever really get nervous, least of all about my job. Impatient, frustrated, angry? Yes. Nervous? No.

My general consensus is: if I'm gonna die, then so be it. Nothin' you can do to change it.

Speaking of change, this place doesn't really look any different from how it did the last time I was here- the cinder block walls are still kind of cold and sterile looking. The oppressive atmosphere is kind of deliberate I think, call it a government ploy- puts us in our place. I remember the way to the locker room and I hang up my jacket, dump my bag of spare clothes and head back out to the bullpen.

It's busy, I realise right off. In fact, it's _too_ busy. My senses are instantly hyper aware as I study the people running around. To put it bluntly everyone seems to be kind of… freaking out. In the centre of it all, is Buchanan, trying to make sense of the chaos, his face stony as he barks out orders, hands on his hips and looking ready to tear his hair out.

I make a beeline for him, concerned. "Bill?"

"Mike, good to have you back," he says grimly, "you made it here just in time," he adds, striking the red button on the wall and indicating an immediate lock-down of the entire premises. Instantly a red light on the wall starts flashing and sirens start wailing.

"What the hell's going on?" I ask, bewildered, raising my voice to be heard above the noise.

Bill's next words chill me to the bone. His expression is steely but his eyes betray his concern: "we have a security breach. Someone here has been trying to sell classified information to terrorists and they've pulled a gun on Nadia Yassir in one of the holding rooms."

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**Interested enough for me to write more? You know what to do. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A hostage situation**

**A/N: Changed the rating down to T, Tigerlily put the thought in my head! It's not bad or anything at the moment but there might be language etc in future, so will put warnings at the beginnings of those chapters for those of you who are mindful of ratings and such. The 'F' word is about as far as I'm taking it for a while anyway. Hope you like this chapter!**

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_**Doyle…**_

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"What?!" I stare at Bill in horror, my stomach lurching uncontrollably to hear Nadia's name spoken in such a context. A sick feeling wells up in the pit of my stomach. "What the hell happened?"

I'm still trying to process what he's just said to me as he leads me into one of the smaller Comms offices, where Morris and Chloe are typing frantically at something on the system. They lift their eyes to me half-heartedly in greeting and then resume their work.

"The foiled terrorist attack on the subway a couple of weeks ago," Bill quickly informs me, "do you know what happened?"

I nod, thinking back to the news reports I watched on FOX. I was still in Denver then, tying up a few loose ends and selling my old apartment, but from what I could ascertain the attack was foiled. Barely even made the news and the terror alert scale only went up one notch. Several suspects were arrested at the scene by the FBI who'd been tailing them for weeks. I thought it was an open and shut case- some religious fanatic preaching against the wrongs of the evil American transport system. Whatever.

"Intel showed us that it was from a home-grown terrorist cell based right here in LA," Bill continues much to my surprise, "they planned to release some kind of nerve gas on the subway system and then infiltrate the airports with the same chemicals.."

"What does that have to do with Nadia?" I ask, my mind whirring.

"She uncovered the cell," Bill admits, a tad uncomfortably, "helped us remand the suspects in custody. She'd been suspecting something was awry for a while due to some chatter she was monitoring. When we interrogated some of the guys in custody it was found that they had help from someone in _here_, with the schematics of the subway system. Someone's been selling them information."

"What? A mole?" I ask incredulously. I really don't like where this conversation is going, it's all too familiar.

"We found the mole," Bill supplies carefully, "an IT guy named Daryl Fletcher, he worked alongside Chloe and Morris. Before we could bring him into custody though, he's felled three of our Field Ops team and taken Nadia for leverage. It seems that she knows more on him and the cell and he's aware of it."

"Jesus..." I'm pretty sure my face is white with shock at these unexpected developments. "I—is she hurt?"

"He's roughed her up a bit," Bill replies anxiously, "and he has her locked in one of the holding cells, overpowered one of the Field Ops guys and took his gun. He's disabled the lock on the door to the wing so no one can get in and out of there and he's managed to screw up the whole security system."

"What about the security feeds?" I ask urgently. I need to see what's going on in there: right now.

"Down. He took them out too. Chloe's working on getting them back up now."

It suddenly hits me, "there was a guy," I remember, "barged right past me on my way in here, almost knocked me over. He seemed in a real hurry to get some place.. a tall guy with black hair and glasses… blue shirt I think? It seemed kind of strange at the time, but now I'm thinking it's more suspicious."

Bill's eyes cloud over in dismay and Morris and Chloe just look at him.

Ok, clearly I'm missing something.

"What is it Bill?" I can sense his distress.

"That's Geoff Harper," Bill answers, and I can see he's trying to bite back his fury. "He's my second in command and another guy who Nadia suspected as a leak. He managed to draw off all attention away from himself and on to Fletcher, but Nadia suspected both of them right from the start." He runs a hand over his forehead looking ashamed; "I thought Nadia had some kind of grudge against him because she wanted his job.. when she brought it to my attention that he wasn't kosher, I kind of dismissed her."

"Nadia isn't like that," I say instantly, getting angry on her behalf but knowing it will do no good whatsoever. I cannot believe this turn of events. Adrenaline spurs me into action and out of habit, my mind is quickly running through all the possible options.

Bill barks out orders for the Field Ops team to head out after Harper and I look over Chloe's shoulder. "Chloe, anywhere on those security feeds yet?"

"Two minutes," she promises frantically as Morris tries to pull up the somewhat disabled satellites, trying to track Harper after he left the building. He's hindered by fuzzy static and hits the desk. "Bugger it!"

As Field Ops head out, I wait for the expected feeling of resentment or jealousy, seeing them all in their Kevlar vests, but it doesn't come. All I feel at this time is an impending concern for Nadia. What if this Fletcher guy hurts her?

Chloe groans a little and suddenly reaches for an antacid tablet. "You ok?" Morris asks her, concerned.

"Pains," she mutters, focusing back on the screen. For the first time I notice that she looks kind of… bigger than what she did before.

"You're.. pregnant?" I say doubtfully, then wince. What if she isn't and she's just got really fat?

She rolls her eyes at me. Ah yes, her sarcasm. I remember it well. "Yes Agent Doyle_, I am_. Ten out of ten for observation."

"Uh, congratulations," I offer.

"Thanks," she types quickly at her system, "though with what's going on here, I'm pretty sure I'll be heading into premature labour any time soon."

I shudder at the thought. I really don't like blood. Or kids.

"I have the feed!" she suddenly exclaims.

_Finally._

Bill and I crowd around the computer monitor as the camera in the holding room flickers to life.

"Shit.." I whisper, instantly agitated.

Nadia is handcuffed to a chair, her legs are bound, and even without sound on the monitor, I can see she is yelling something at the guy who is pacing around the room, brandishing what looks like to be from here a glock semi-automatic. On the floor of the holding cell are two dead security guards, both of whom are covered in blood. I can see the bullet holes in them from here.

Killed by their own weapons.

Fuck.

A quick appraisal of Nadia reveals that though she is pretty beaten up, her injuries thankfully don't look too life threatening. A cut above her eye, a busted lip and some blood spattering her shirt, which I don't think is hers. I hope it isn't. For the moment, thank god, she seems relatively unharmed.

From the way she's screaming at the guy though, I'm anxious. In my time I've seen plenty of loose cannons and this Fletcher looks like he'll go off on one at any minute. Then what kind of position is she going to be in?

"Don't be a hero, Nadia," I pray inwardly, unsure of whom I'm even talking to.

"What can we do?" Chloe asks, concerned, "Fletcher disabled all the locks in that wing and Morris is working to try and get them back up, but it's going to take time. It's steel doors and bullet proof glass, we're screwed."

The four of us watch the monitor in horror as Fletcher suddenly smacks Nadia right across the face, so hard that her head snaps back in agony at the sheer force. I feel anger well up in me that she's in this position when she was just trying to do the right thing.

"We don't _have_ time," I say frantically, "we need to get her out of there now. That guy's insane.."

"That's a bit hypocritical don't you think?" Chloe asks mildly, "pot calling kettle black and all that."

Bill shoots a dagger look at her and I gape at her in amazement. The tension in the room suddenly shoots up by about fifty degrees.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand through clenched teeth.

"Well, I just meant, you know, YOU interrogated her and had her by the throat," she answers with a shrug, in her usual offhand manner.

I can't remember the last time I felt so mad.

"I thought she was a terrorist!" I hiss, unsure of why I need to justify myself, least of all to Chloe. "That's a bit different from pulling a weapon on someone and---" I suddenly still, my voice trailing off, as it hits me with crystal clear clarity that I pulled my own knife on Nadia during her interrogation. Oh god, she's right, I'm no better than this crazy guy myself.

I feel sick. Is that how people see me? A loose cannon? A guy who hurts people for the hell of it?

Bill must be able to sense how I'm feeling. "Shut up Chloe," he interjects, but not unkindly, "arguing isn't going to help the situation, or Nadia. This entire building is disabled. How can we get to her?"

It suddenly comes to me, "the air vents," I say, finally able to think more clearly without Chloe yammering on in my ear and pissing me off; "there's a vent right above that holding cell. Josh Bauer crawled through it when he tried to escape from Cheng's men when CTU was compromised."

"Can you fit in there?" Bill asks me, seeming thankful at the suggestion.

"Me?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes, you."

"But—" I'm wondering why they don't ask any of the remaining Field Ops guys to do it and I guess my surprise must show on my face. Bill of all people knows what shape I've been in lately.

"Doyle, you know the schematics to this building," Bill tells me adamantly, "get suited up and let's do this."

It's almost like old times as I pull on the vest, but I don't feel any elation. All I feel is nauseous- Nadia is in danger and watching those feeds, I sense this Fletcher guy is becoming more and more violent. There's still no sound up, which makes it even worse as we don't know what he's saying to her. He's just kind of circling the room in a predatory fashion, jabbing his gun in the air.

Morris meets my eyes as Chloe links me up with a Comms headset. "Not exactly a great welcome back," he concedes, handing me a vest and a gun.

"Tell me about it." As I walk to the desk underneath the duct in this room which I know leads out above the corridor, Bill quickly unscrews the vent.

"You're good to go," Chloe says firmly, testing my earpiece, as I start a little at the crackling in my ear. "Um, Agent Doyle?"

"Yeah?" I turn to face her.

Her face has softened somewhat, "um, I didn't mean what I said to you, about Nadia's interrogation I mean. It just--- well, it really messed up her head that's all, and now she's going through it again.."

If anything, what Chloe says makes me feel even worse, but I can tell she means well. I manage a weak smile; "don't worry about it."

With one last reassuring smile from Bill, and a knee-up from Morris, I slide into the vent.

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It's cool and dark in there, and for a couple of seconds I feel a little disorientated as I try to get my bearings. I look at the PDA in my hand, which Chloe has uploaded the building grid plans to. After looking at it for a couple of seconds, I deduce that I need to be heading right.

So I do. I crawl silently through the pipe. The adrenaline is still buzzing and anxiety over what's going on in that cell now that I can't even see anything on any monitor or screen makes me move even faster. The element of not knowing what she's going through is what drives me. Chloe's voice is tinny in my ear.

"Ok Agent Doyle, you should be coming into the crawl space right above that holding cell in the next few seconds, so slow down and move very quietly.."

I obediently slow down and inch closer.

Chloe's right- I can hear Fletcher ranting and raving now, his voice echoes through the chrome pipes, as I crawl closer to the metal grid and peer down into the room.

The guy is still pacing around Nadia and from here I can see that she's pretty badly shaken up though she keeps her face impassive. She's pale and her hair is all mussed. Her clothes are dusty and torn and she's desperately trying to free herself without any success.

I shrink back from the grid for just a second, contemplating my chances with this guy one-on-one. He's bigger than me, which might make him slower, but presumably also stronger.. he's at least a good thirty pounds heavier than me. I know I'm probably much faster than he is, and I have a gun.

You'd _think _that would be an advantage right?

Wrong.

At one point I would have been able to make a clean shot even from this distance and with the limited visibility of the grid, but with these lacklustre eyes of mine now, I wouldn't like to place any money on it. Fletcher's stood too close to Nadia, and if I miss.. the consequences really don't bear thinking about.

I can hear the guy, taunting Nadia., who's glaring at him, a mutinous expression on her face.

"How does it feel, Nadia?" he's sneering, a maniacal tone in his voice, "must be like déjà vu, to be in here again, feeling so threatened.."

Involuntarily, my hand tightens on my gun.

He paces in front of Nadia, gun right in her face and then he points it at her temple. Then, to my chargrin, he suddenly pulls out a knife.

Ohgodohgod..

She never takes her eyes off the blade and I can see from here that she's trying to remain as calm as possible.

I narrow my eyes, trying to assess the distance between them and what kind of damage a shot would do through the grid. Ricochet or direct wounding?

He runs the flat side of the knife down the side of her face as she flinches. "How does it _feel_?" he repeats, in a little sing-song voice.

"Go to hell," Nadia spits out, but I can see the fear in her eyes and Fletcher must be able to as well. God, it_ is_ like déjà vu. This is like my worst nightmare coming true. Having to watch her in this situation…

"Bitch!" Fletcher suddenly hisses, placing his knife against her throat with a wobbly hand. It pierces her skin and she cries out with the sudden unexpected pain, a bauble of blood wells and then trickles down her shirt collar, staining the ivory fabric.

That's it- I can't take it any more. I click the safety off my SIG Sauer, and without even thinking about it, fire directly through the grate. It's a fast shot and I'm praying I won't miss.

Thankfully I don't. Fletcher cries out in agony as the bullet strikes him in the knee, sending him clattering to the floor, both his weapons sliding away from him at the unexpected force.

At the same time, I ram open the grid and then unceremoniously tumble into the room. Nadia jumps in shock, her eyes are wide with fright.

"Mike.." she exclaims, just like that, one word conveying so many emotions. Hell, I _know_ she just had a knife to her throat, but she almost sounds glad to see me.

"You ok?" I ask her, my eyes not leaving Fletcher as I kick the knife out of the way and grab his firearm, my own gun trained on him unwaveringly. The son of a bitch is bleeding, but not too profusely. Too bad. He's crawling on the floor like he thinks he can actually get somewhere.

"I—I think so," she says shakily.

I advance on Fletcher menacingly, my gun trained on his face, and he stills. "Don't move you crazy bastard." If I didn't think we needed information from him, I'd have killed him already, just for what he did to her.

The next second the lights in the room start flickering and I can hear someone outside the door with a power tool. Guess Morris managed to get the systems into the corridor up and running. About damn time.

Its another couple of minutes before a couple of Field Ops guys crash through the door, weapons trained on Fletcher as I finally lower my own gun. Bill is at their heels, and as they haul Fletcher to his feet, I use my own knife to free Nadia's legs as Bill uncuffs her.

"You alright?" I ask her. Such a lame thing to say, but I'm just so goddamn overwhelmed by what just went on.

Her eyes meet mine and she nods, but she's bleeding, and breathing a little harshly. "I'm ok," she says finally, but I can see her hands shaking. "Um.. thank you.. for—for saving me.."

I think my heart breaks at that point, but she's already distracted by Bill pressing some kind of bandage to her neck wound.

"I'm sorry," he's telling her, "for not listening, I—"

"Forget it," she says dismissively, rubbing her red wrists and looking at him kindly. I can see she bears no grudges or anger toward Bill in any way. "It's ok Bill, really.. those guys were good actors."

We all look up as Fletcher is dragged, screaming from the room. "You're dead Nadia—Harper will make sure you never get to testify against us. That's a promise! Your little dossier I know you have on our activities.. nothing!

"Shut that jackass up!" Bill growls, as I see Nadia tensing in fear.

Fletcher's sorry ass is hauled away, he's practically foaming at the mouth.

"He—he means it," Nadia stammers, "he knows all the stuff I have on them. That I suspected them…That's why he got me in here, to see how much Intel I know.. I've been gathering information on their group for months.." her eyes shift to Bill, who's looking a little sick, and then she looks at me.

"Shit.." I mutter, how the hell did it get this far?

"Take Nadia to de-briefing, Mike," Bill orders me, "get her calmed down, and medical attention if she needs it. I'm going to deal with that clown."

"I'm ok," Nadia tells me firmly as we walk down the corridor, but I can tell she's as jumpy as a cat.

"You're bleeding," I point out gently, "he punched you in the mouth and he nicked you with that knife. H—he pulled a gun on you."

She shivers, as if realising it could have been so much worse, unconsciously touching her neck, shuddering at the blood on her fingers.

In medical, a doctor takes a look at her. He dresses her wounds and cleans her up as I sit silently in the corner just observing her. The whole time she insists she's fine, but I can tell she's not.

Bill comes in ten minutes later, just as the doctor finishes patching her up. He sits in the bedside chair beside Nadia and I can see the remorse on his face. He feels like he's let her down, by not believing her.

Join the club. I sure know what that feels like.

Now Nadia's life is potentially in danger, and I can see he blames himself.

"We need to take a statement from you," he says quietly, as she nods.

"Did you get Harper?" I ask, and Nadia jumps like she'd forgotten I was there.

"Field Ops are still on it," Bill says gravely, "there's nothing traceable on satellite. He's considered to be armed and extremely dangerous."

If Nadia is afraid by this then she doesn't show it. "There's more out there, Bill," she tells him simply, "home grown terrorists who've developed some kind of hatred toward the US. Fletcher and Harper are only the tip of the iceberg."

I can see Bill is fighting his emotions, probably remembering times Nadia approached him with some kind of information or insight and he just dismissed her. "Nadia, you're in danger," he says firmly, "these people are going to come after you. You know that, right? They're going to do everything in their power to find you and stop you testifying against them. To stop you from blowing this whole thing wide open."

"What can I do?" Nadia asks him, looking down at her hands, perplexed.

I lift my eyebrows and exchange a look with Bill. "We need to get you out of here."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Decisions and remorse**

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews! They brighten my day! Hope you like this chapter, figured it was about time we heard from Bill and Nadia, much as I love Doyle's self-deprecation and doubt..**

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_**Bill…**_

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Ok, this whole thing is my fault. I feel terrible. If I'd have listened to Nadia's concerns right from the start then none of this would have happened.

I could have prevented this.

What kind of Director am I?

God, I wish my wife was here.

Mike, Nadia and I are sat huddled in the medical room and she's looking at me with a kind of pensive expression on her face, her eyes darting from Mike, then back to me again as she tries to comprehend the situation. Each time her eyes meet mine, there's a kind of reassuring expression in them that I wish to god I didn't have to see and it hits me right in the stomach. I should be the one assuring _her_ that it's all going to be Ok, not the other way around.

She could have died today and it would have been my fault for not listening to her.

I frown as I reflect back on the last couple of months, rubbing my aching temples.

You see, right from when Fletcher and Harper transferred here from Division, Nadia didn't seem to gel with them, which is kind of weird, as Nadia really is a people person. She gets on well with most people in_ some_ capacity, which is a trait I kind of envy as I have no time for complainers, slouchers or people who can be a bit slow on the uptake. I kind of like to get things done. Karen says it's probably my biggest downfall, but I like to think of it as a virtue.

I have to admit, at first I put Nadia's attitude down to some kind of animosity that she'd been switched over from my second in charge to Head of Internet Protocol. Not exactly a _step-down_, but I know she kind of liked working alongside me, and she did a damn good job as temporary director whilst all my own personal crap was going on. Thing is, it went above my head, and Division sent in someone with more experience than her. What else was I supposed to do?

So, a couple of weeks after Harper started working alongside me, she came to me with some documentation that she said kind of concerned her, showing that the remote access modules to the system had been accessed at unorthodox times, by someone with Level 8 clearance- either myself or Harper are the only people at CTU who have those security codes. It's unorthodox, but not exactly unheard of for someone to go into the system at those times, and the data still seemed secure, so I dismissed it. I felt I had no reason to suspect Harper was doing anything untoward.

Even Chloe and Morris approached me with a few concerns, namely that Fletcher didn't seem up to speed on what was going on and a whole bunch of times left routers to the system open. I had _Harper_ deal with him, which is why I'm feeling such an idiot over the situation now, especially as they've been in cahoots about this whole damn thing.

Jesus…

"We need to get you out of here," Mike is telling Nadia.

I blink back to the present.

Her eyes are hooded as she plays with the cuff of her shirt, looking all battered and bruised. "Where can I go?"

"Somewhere safe until you can testify against these guys and we get the rest of them," I tell her, making a conscious decision to stay strong right now; there'll be time for remorse later, "we need someone to track them down."

"Jack," Chloe's voice comes from the doorway, and she's stood there with Morris. "He's on his way."

My eyes widen at the mention of our former colleague, "I thought he'd gone dark."

"He's on his way," Chloe repeats, "I called him."

Figures that out of everyone here, Chloe O'Brien would be the one person to know how to contact Jack Bauer when no one else does. "Thank god," I mutter, relieved, asking no further questions. They're not warranted. "How long?"

"We sent a chopper for him," Morris informs me, "he should be here within the hour."

"Did I hear you saying that Nadia's going someplace?" Chloe asks, looking concerned as she shuts the door after them.

"We need to keep her safe until she can testify," I explain. "We don't know how many of these guys are out there. From Nadia's information gathered, we can assume there's a considerable amount of people behind this cell."

"Too many people," Mike mutters darkly. I feel resentment coming off him- he sees that it's my fault that Nadia's in this predicament and I can't even argue with him.

"Where's she going to go?" Morris asks.

"Someplace remote," I say decisively. "We need to get her off the radar as quickly as possible, maybe even let people think she was killed in that room."

At this, Nadia's eyes widen.

"You can't let her go on her own!" Chloe protests, "she won't last five minutes."

"Hey!" Nadia snaps, looking insulted, "quit talking about me like I'm not even here!"

"No offence Nadia," Chloe says with an appeasing smile, "but you get lost driving to the mall."

I run a hand over my face wearily. "She won't _be_ on her own," I say firmly, "Mike's going with her."

"What?!" Four people demand at once.

"I can't," Mike says instantly, "I mean, my eyes still aren't healed and my reflexes are shot to hell, you _know_ that.. There's no way…"

Nadia is looking at him curiously, her brow crinkling- she doesn't know the full repercussions of his accident. I deliberately kept them from her, as she felt guilty enough about that day as it was. She was in charge when he was sent to recover that elusive component from Phillip Bauer months back, and despite the fact she was following CTU procedure, I know she felt terrible when he was temporarily blinded. Same with Milo Pressman's death. I sat with her for hours at the end of that dreadful day, when she was too numb even to cry. All she could do was blame herself over and over, which is maybe why she can relate to how I'm feeling now.

"You'll be fine," I tell Mike in what I hope is a no-nonsense tone of voice, trying to mask my discomfort. "After today, I have every faith that you can keep Nadia safe."

Much to my relief, Chloe is nodding in agreement, "It makes sense," she tells Mike, "I mean you were back in the building for like five minutes today and you already saved her life."

"That was luck," Mike argues, looking more than mildly pissed off, "look, I'm not a damn _babysitter_, ok?"

Nadia's head jerks up at this rather bullish comment, and her eyes are flashing as she challenges him, "what, you think I actually _want_ you looking out for me?" she snaps. Now she looks hurt.

"This isn't babysitting!" I bark, pissed off myself now. I forgot how much these two argued- they can both be as pigheaded as each other. Despite that, I know I've made the right decision. "You're protecting the most important witness we have and god forbid I'm sure you'll do a better job of looking out for her than I have these past few months!"

They all look at me in surprise. I guess I don't get _this_ angry so often. Surprise, surprise- I've even stunned Mike Doyle into silence. He looks too irritated to argue with me.

I sigh tiredly, "end of discussion. Mike, come with me, we need to go through some things and make some arrangements, Chloe, get working on some fake passports and documents and think of a secure means of contact for them- Morris, compile together as much of Nadia's information as you can, we need to show it to Jack when he gets here and bring him up to speed. These two are going to be leaving here within the hour."

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_**Nadia…**_

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Since when did people start making decisions about my life like I wasn't even in the room? They're all at it now- Bill, Mike, even Chloe and Morris. I can't believe this whole thing has escalated so much and now my life is in danger for god's sake.

I just finished up with Morris, he took practically everything I had stashed away on the terrorist cell, making copies and going over the information like a million times and ensuring he knows everything I do.

This bites, seriously.

Why couldn't I take some nice little desk job when I graduated Michigan? A PA in some fashion house or a secretary in a law firm? They get to wear cute outfits, change their clothes more than once every 24 hours, and I'm _pretty_ sure they don't wind up with a knife to their throats. No, I had to go for the whole 'danger' factor. Holy crap.

Mike and Bill are still in the room next door, they both look up when I enter and their faces betray the seriousness of the situation.

"Are you alright?" Bill asks.

"No, I'm _not_ alright," I say tiredly, "What's going on?"

"Fletcher's being interrogated by Field Ops," Mike tells me flatly, "he's not talking at the moment." I can tell from his tone of voice that _he _wanted to be the one to do the whole torture thing and I'm presuming Bill wouldn't let him. Great, I ruined his day even more.

"What else?" I ask, rubbing my neck uncomfortably, "I mean, what are you talking about in _here_?"

"You guys need to get out of LA," Bill says simply, "we were just going over your options."

"Yeah, and what have you decided?" I ask, a little sarcastically. It's not like it's got anything to do with me at all.

"You're going to just drive," Bill says simply, "try and get out of here as inconspicuously as possible: no helicopters, planes, whatever. That's what they'll be expecting and they'll have CTU under surveillance if they suspect there's any chance you're still alive. We know how these guys operate and they have some kind of access to our systems, which Morris is presently trying to block. You need to stick to as many minor roads as possible and just get the hell out of here."

"Why not a safe house or anything?" I ask, a little confused. That seems like the most viable option.

"Because in the past, um, CTU safe houses haven't always been safe," Bill admits, running a hand through his grey hair and averting his eyes. "There was this incident with Kim and Terri Bauer.. anyways, that's not the point…"

"You're telling me this _now_, that really makes me feel better," I sigh.

"It's better for us to keep driving," Mike tells me simply, "if we're continuously on the move then there's less chance of them tracking us."

I can tell he's pissed off that _today_, of all days, he came back to CTU and wound up right in the middle of this mess. Still his 'baby-sitter' comment earlier really pissed me off. I haven't seen him in nearly six months and he still has a tendency to wind me up more than anyone else I ever met. I _know_ he doesn't want to be the one watching out for me and that he'd like nothing better to slip back into his job in tactical, but the thing is, I also know with him, that I'll be safe.

We might not get on very well, but I do trust him. Unequivocally. And trust isn't something I tend to give away too easily.

"What about your family?" Bill asks me. "I mean, is there anyone you need us to contact?"

I look down, "I don't have any family. My dad died last year. That's it. My mom passed away a couple of years before that."

"I'm sorry," Bill says softly, and it looks like he means it as he and Mike fall silent. Bill's trying to be nice, because that's the sort of guy he is and I don't blame him for any of this, honest to god I don't, but I'm really not in the mood for niceties at the moment. Did I get this right? He expects us to just get in a car and drive, putting some kind of crazy trail all over the US so that no one can find us and in the meantime Jack Bauer can trace the terrorist cell? They're putting all their faith in a rogue agent who vanished off the face of the earth months back?

Is this even going to work?

I bite my lip and turn away. "What else do I need to know?"

"Chloe's got you guys some fake documents, should you need to use them," Bill explains, "and I don't think I have to tell you that you need to stay off the radar as much as possible: drive off the main highways and when you guys need to rest: rest. Eat: eat. Keep it low key and for gods sake, switch cars occasionally so that no one can find you should they be looking on satellite. I don't want to hear that you guys have been targeted by some kind of rocket launcher. We'll contact you via secure means if and when we need to and we'll agree some kind of allotted time frame for you to call us here.."

Mike's nodding but he looks tense and I can see he's wound up about this whole situation. He generally has the tendency to be quite single minded- I never met a guy with as big a chip on his shoulder- but now I can see _he's_ feeling the severity of the situation by his lack of a) argument and b) rudeness. Its kind of nice to see Bill putting him in his place, but like everyone else here, Mike also has respect for Bill Buchanan.

I look down at my bloodstained shirt then, suddenly realising for the first time how bad I must look. I'd kill for a shower but I doubt there's time before we get the hell out of here, and I'm feeling dirty and tired. Hardly conspicuous covered in all kinds of blood and grime. Not to mention my messed up face. "Can I change now?"

"Of course. Do you have any other clothes here?" Bill questions.

"Only what's in my locker," I mumble, "some spare suits and sweats for the gym."

"Pack them," Bill tells me decisively, "you'll have to pick up more clothes on route. You can't go to your apartment, they'll be monitoring it by now if they think you're still alive."

I nod, weakly. I feel bad for him, I know he's blaming himself for this but he has no reason to. He's doing his best- he's trying to look out for me here.

"Mike, do you have any other clothes?"

"Some workout clothes in the car and I brought some things with me today," he answers.

As I leave them talking guy fashions and head to the locker room I swing by the girl's bathroom and study my reflection in the mirror._ Jesus…_

I look like I've undergone seven rounds with Holyfield- my lip is all busted up, my face is swollen and I have bloody cuts on my neck. Christ..

I wince and press a hand to my tender jaw. The doctors did a pretty good job in patching me up and they administered some painkillers but I'm still feeling pretty achy as they haven't yet started kicking in. My temple feels all bruised too from where Fletcher whacked me right across the side of my face.

Asshole. I knew he was bad news.

As I study my reflection I realise how pale I look. How… scared all of a sudden.

That's not me. I mean, I've been through some pretty serious stuff this past couple of years and I will not let this break me.

I won't.

Despite my resolve, my lip trembles and I blink back tears.

I will _not_ cry. Even though I guess in this situation, no one would really blame me.

Less than an hour ago, some whack job terrorist tried to kill me because I knew too much. It started with a gun then he held a knife to my throat and was threatening to slit it until Mike Doyle crashed through the air vent, shot him and saved my life.

Terrorist _number two_ is now on the run, possibly trying to kill me with all his little terrorist friends in tow, so now I have to head out as well in the hope that eventually these terrorists will be caught and I can testify against them in the Supreme Court.

Unless we fail and they kill me first.

Jack Bauer, Super-Agent, formerly MIA, is heading back from whatever clandestine dark and dangerous mission he was undoubtedly on, to try and take out this said terrorist cell and help us.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah: Mike Doyle is my new _baby-sitter_.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Diversion**

**A/N: Ok, got back from my holiday and decided to put up a few chapters that I managed to edit on the train between Washington DC and Boston. For the record? I ****totally**** love Amtrak- so much better than rail services in the UK! Anyway, hope you like these chapters, comments would be appreciated.**

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_**Chloe…**_

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Nadia's not even crying or anything. I mean, if this were _me_ I'm pretty sure I'd be a sobbing, bawling mess, especially with my hormones at the moment, but she's just kind of sat there all white-faced and silent. I guess she's in shock or something and who can blame her?

Not only did she uncover this terrorist cell in the first place, but there's more out there, one of the guys tried to kill her because of what she knows and now she has to get out of here, with Mike Doyle of _all_ people in order to keep her testimony information safe.

It's like The Young and The Restless or something. Or maybe CSI.

She's changed into some clean clothes and is pressing some kind of icepack to her head and listening to whatever Bill's saying to her as Morris and I survey the scene from the doorway.

I wish she'd came to us about the whole thing, we would have helped her.

I know why she didn't though, as I rest my hand on my stomach protectively.

She lifts her eyes to meet mine as Bill stands up placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and I can read the silent apology in her eyes. "Let's get you guys out of here," Bill says simply.

I hand her an encrypted cell phone that I managed to scramble the SIM card's signal on and she slips it into her pants pocket. She's looking a lot less bloody now, though her face is still pretty messed up. "You can use it for about two minutes at a time before the signal starts to triangulate," I caution her. "I re-routed the number. It might be best if we call you from here when we need to though, just in case they trace the call. I was going to fit a tracking chip into the back, but I didn't want to take the risk. For security reasons, let's just say you guys should call us every 24 hours, starting from 11:45pm tomorrow- give you a chance to get far enough away from here. We'll arrange it so that one of the three of us is always here. If circumstances change, well, then we'll have to work something out."

"Ok," she mumbles almost inaudibly.

"Are you going to be ok?" Morris asks her, and I can tell he's as concerned as I am by her silence.

She shrugs not looking too convinced; "I think I'll be fine."

Morris gives her a little hug, "we'll do everything we can to catch these guys," he promises, meeting my eye, "Jack's on the case and he'll probably have caught them within twenty four hours..."

I nod sombrely, agreeing with him, if anyone can sort this out, it's Jack Bauer.

I'm not a huggy person by rights, but Nadia's the sort of person you can't help but

like, even though she's so damn attractive it's irritating and if it was high school I'd probably hate her. She's definitely cheerleader material, too much damn pep (usually anyways), whilst I'd say in the social hierarchy, I'd be a chess club nerd. Despite myself, I squeeze her hand. "You take care, ok?"

She manages a little smile, gesturing to my bump, "and you."

Bill has been conversing in low tones with Doyle about money and security cameras or something, but now he turns to Nadia. "You're going to be safe with Agent Doyle," he assures her gravely, "I can't say again how sorry I am that I didn't listen to you sooner…"

She cuts him off with a little smile and I can see that she doesn't blame him even though he probably blames himself; "Bill.. forget it, really," she touches his arm, "Just promise me you'll find these guys, ok?"

Bill nods, looking like he feels better already and then exchanges a glance with Morris, who suddenly yanks down hard, on the fire alarm.

As everyone quickly heads to the exit, in the milieu, Doyle and Nadia slip covertly into the crowd. I try and keep my eyes on them, but in all the rush and with the crowd of disgruntled employees, after five seconds, I don't see them any more.

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_**Nadia..**_

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"Keep up," Doyle practically barks at me as we push through the throng of CTU co-workers exiting the building. Jeez, power trip anyone?

I'm trying to keep up with him, really I am, but the painkillers I took are kicking in and making me a little woozy and his legs are also a lot longer than mine are. He takes two strides for every one of my steps.

Like he senses I'm struggling, his expression turns from one of exasperation and softens somewhat as he grabs my bag off me, carrying it along with his own as we continue forwards.

At the front of the building, Doyle eyes the perimeter for the security cameras then turns to face me, "security cameras are on a time delay," he says calmly, "Bill told me Morris has blocked them to give us a chance to get out of here, but we don't know if these guys have any remote satellite access trained on us from above, so we need to move, ok?"

I nod.

"Keep moving forwards," he says, "keep your face pointing left away from the cameras and head straight across the block to the bus stop, ok? We'll join the queue, and then when the next bus comes, we'll head left through the crowd and walk downtown," he reaches into his pocket and I see him flick the safety off his weapon.

"Downtown on foot?" I ask in confusion. Surely that's more dangerous?

"My car's in the CTU lot," he explains, seeing my puzzlement as we walk casually down the sidewalk trying to act normal, "it will mean going right around the building again where there's more surveillance cameras and Morris can't block them forever. It's easier to steal one a little way from here. If they do have satellites trained on the area, the last thing they'd expect is for us to be pedestrians."

"Steal a car?" I ask, "that's not exactly ethical."

"Do you want to get out of here alive?" he asks pointedly, so I shut up.

We join the bus queue, neither of us speaking, and a couple of minutes later a city bus pulls up. As people scramble to the doors to get seats, we by-pass the crowd and start walking again, more quickly this time.

We walk a couple of blocks and his eyes fall on a red sedan outside an office building, the windows are open and the keys are still in the ignition. "Dumb," he mutters to himself, looking around us furtively, "it's not even a challenge."

With that, he slides in the driver's seat and jerks his finger at me, "get in," he orders.

I do so, as he tosses our stuff in the back, and then pulls the car away from the kerb.

Easy as that.

No one on the street even blinks an eyelid.

"You've done that before," I say, stating the obvious as he indicates left and pulls into the heavy mid-morning traffic. "I can't believe we just stole a car!"

"It was… commandeered," he says simply, "think of it as _borrowing_ if it eases your conscience. Besides, we're not using it forever. I'm going to dump it when we get further out of the city, I'm pretty sure the owner will get it back."

"_Pretty_ sure?"

"Sorry, should I have left a note?"

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	6. Chapter 6

**Where are we?**

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_**Doyle…**_

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I think she's kind of bothered by the fact that I stole a car.

Oh well, she'll get over it. We have other things to worry about now. A million more other problems that make the fact I kind of stole a car pale slightly into insignificance.

I never knew she was so moralistic.

I pull onto a route leading out of town.

"Where are we going?" she asks me, her voice quiet.

"I don't know," I admit, "have a look in the glove compartment, see if there's a road map or something in there."

She does so. Nothing.

"We could drive to Canada?" I venture, thinking of somewhere further North and its numerous isolated towns. "It's about a day and a half's drive. It might be safer across the border."

"Ok."

Woo hoo. Road trip. How the hell did I get persuaded to do this? This is like a _huge_responsibility and I don't think I'm ready for it. Buchanan obviously has more faith in me than I do in myself.

Poor guy, I could see how bad he felt about this whole thing. It was nice of Nadia to tell him that she doesn't blame him for any of this, she's a lot more charitable than _I_ would be in her situation.

She's quiet now, like the whole thing has hit her. I'm pretty surprised she's not broken down and cried or anything though, though she doesn't seem like a crier. Instead she's rubbing her swollen lip absentmindedly and gazing out at the traffic.

"Do you think they'll find us?" she asks me suddenly.

"I'm not going to let that happen."

"But do you think they _might_?" she asks, turning those deep brown eyes of her on me. Shit, she looks all vulnerable and hurt all of a sudden and I mentally engage my heart to switch off.

"It's a possibility," I concede, because I can't lie to her.

We arrive at some industrial estate on the outskirts of Culver City. "Let's dump this car," I say, spying a Hertz car rental place further down the block.

Thirty minutes later, we're sat in a Toyota driving out toward Santa Monica. Nadia's gone back to being quiet again and I mentally chide myself for being such a jerk about this whole thing. I wish I could think of something nice to say to her, something to disperse this tension that's sprung up between us, but I'm not really the kind of guy who exchanges pleasantries.

She's silent too, and that's the way we both remain for the next six hours, give or take a couple of rest stops, though neither of us eats anything. The next time I look over at her, I realise I've driven more than 380 miles, she's fallen asleep and the sun is setting in the sky.

We're heading up Route 5, going through Sacramento when Nadia suddenly stirs sleepily. "Where are we?" she mumbles, breaking the silence hanging over the car.

"Sacramento," I reply, concentrating on the road. I guess my voice is pretty abrupt or something, because she turns away and lapses back into silence.

God, maybe I need to work on my people skills.

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_**Nadia…**_

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He doesn't speak to me. He's not exactly chatty is he? He barely even looks at me as he's concentrating so hard on the unfamiliar roads as night falls, and when he _does_ deign to speak to me, he's sullen- obnoxious even. Maybe he should work on his people skills a little more.

Part of me is ok with that, his constant need so obviously not to talk to me- I need time to fully process what has happened today- but the larger part of me cannot bear this silence. It's oppressive- hangs over the inside of the car like a thick fog.

I just want some reassurance- to know that it's all going to be ok. That _I'm _going to be ok.

A kind smile wouldn't go amiss either.

But I'm sat with the wrong person for any of those things. He might be the best Field Agent- sorry, _former_ Field Agent- I've ever met, but when it comes to emotions, to_feelings_, Mike Doyle is like stone. Some kind of freaking machine, running on duty and obligation to CTU and the USA.

Is this how it's going to be- all this silence and tension? For the next god knows how long until this is over? One way or the other..

Because if it is, I don't think I can handle it.

I think I might break.

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**  
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	7. Chapter 7

**Fill me in**

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_**Jack…**_

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I step out of the chopper as it lands on the helipad at CTU, squinting in the bright LA sunshine. Chloe's waiting on the tarmac for me.

"Jack," she greets me with a little smile, that one she usually keeps reserved just for me- a mixture of exasperation, relief and gratitude.

"Hey," I say, giving her a little hug, "wow, you got so big.."

"Thanks," she says, rolling her eyes in typical Chloe fashion, "you sure know how to pay a girl a compliment. Figures I'd lose a ton of weight only to get knocked up."

"You look _good_," I interject hurriedly as I follow her back into the building. "How long to go?"

"Two months," she responds, "I was supposed to go on maternity leave next week, but I doubt that's going to happen given these new circumstances. How's Audrey?"

"She's a little better," I say, feeling my heart constrict a bit at the mention of the woman I love, "she's more coherent than she was, the rehabilitation centre she's in now is great. I manage to go and see her sometimes, well, when her father isn't being a jackass.."

"That's good news," Chloe says mildly, as we head through the bullpen and up to Bill's office.

CTU hasn't changed. It's as cold and sterile as ever. The staff are different- some of them look at me curiously as I follow Chloe up the stairs as I blink away memories of this place.

It's still so goddamn hard to be here. So many ghosts..

But Jack Bauer doesn't run away from ghosts. Not any more.

Morris and Bill are in his office. What was once _my_ office. Tony's office..

There's still that little stain on the carpet from when Tony dropped his cubs mug and spilled hot coffee everywhere when he was staring at Michelle's ass that time. He was more worried about the mug than the floor. And those pencil marks in the ceiling from that time when we got really bored so decided to see how many sharpened pencils we could stick in the ceiling grooves..

I won.

Nineteen.

My personal best.

_So many ghosts.. _

"Jack.." Bill greets me with a relieved handshake, as I smile warmly back, blinking into the present. I have a lot of time for Bill Buchanan, he's a good guy. He's risked his ass for me in the past, how could I not help him out this time?

"Hi Jack," Morris greets me with a reserved grin, "good to see you again."

"You too," I respond, "congratulations on the baby."

"Thanks," he says with a smile as I sit down at the table. I look up at Chloe who's hovering.

"Water retention in the ankles," she says, like it explains everything; "it helps if I stand up.."

"_Ok-ay_," I say with a shrug, I'm used to Chloe-isms by now; "so, who's going to fill me in on what's been going on here?"

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The three of them do it. It takes time.

When they've finished, I sit back in my chair. "Holy crap.."

"It's a complicated situation," Bill admits grimly, "Harper is on the run and is considered to be armed and dangerous. We don't know where he got his weapons from, a foreign manufacturer we guess, and we assume that he has a bigger group behind him than those we already arrested."

"And you have this Fletcher guy in holding?" I ask, flicking through the documentation that Nadia compiled.

The girl's thorough, that's for damn sure.

"He's in holding but he's not talking," Morris informs me. "We had some of the Field Ops guys working on him but he's not saying anything."

"I'll do it," I say, standing up. I'm a little out of practice, but I'm pretty sure I can get this guy to spill.

It's just a matter of pushing hard enough.

"What about Nadia and Doyle?" I ask, looking at some surveillance photos and data schematics before I leave, "are you tracking them?"

"We didn't want to take the risk," Chloe interjects, "these guys have the capability of getting into our systems and we didn't want them to be able to trace them. Especially since Fletcher threatened Nadia."

"Where are they?" I ask Bill.

"I told them to just drive," Bill says simply, "they'll be contacting us every twenty-four hours for updates."

"That's good," I agree. "We need to keep Nadia safe as we can and on the move. She has everything we need to put these guys away.. when we find them that is."

"Jack," Bill lifts his eyes at me, "I just spoke with Karen. President Palmer fully supports any means necessary you have to get this guy to talk. We need to know where Harper and his men are, and we need to know _now_."

I nod, then close the office door quietly behind me.

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Fletcher isn't the snivelling little weasel I expected. I know, mole stereotyping. Kind of offensive.

But I've broke traitors before, and I'll do it again.

I start by sitting opposite him, crossing my arms.

"Tell me the whereabouts of Geoff Harper and I'll make this easy for you."

"Jack Bauer I presume. Your reputation precedes you. I know what to expect."

"Then you'll also know that I'm prepared to do whatever I want to get the necessary information."

"I'm not talking until I have immunity from the president."

I roll my eyes. What _is_ it with these guys? They think that the president will just excuse treachery and let them go? Ok, _sometimes_ that happens, but not anymore. I know Wayne Palmer is behind me on this one. There's chemical weapons out there and this cell were prepared to release them into the American transport system endangering thousands of people.

Very calmly I stand up, and then even more calmly I snap his index finger. The crunch of the bone is kind of satisfying.

Yup, still got it Bauer.

He screams in pain.

"Let me get this straight with you right now," I hiss, leaning forward, "you lost the right to ask for immunity the second you started working with a terrorist organisation. You lost the right to speak without raising your hand the second you decided to give them classified information.." I grab his throat menacingly and he gasps for air, "and you lost the right to piss in private the instant you threatened Nadia Yassir with a gun.."

He chokes a little and I grip him tighter.

"We can do this the easy way and you give me what information I need and then you go to jail, or we can do it the hard way and I make it hurt and _then_ you go to jail. Either way I get what I want."

He remains mutinously silent, and with a shrug, I lean forward and snap another two of his fingers.

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_**Bill…**_

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I'm watching Jack from behind the two way screen, as I speak to Karen again on my cell phone.

"You alright honey?" she asks me. It sounds like she's pacing, as indeed I am, as I watch Jack interrogating Fletcher.

"I'm ok," I say softly.

"President Palmer wants to talk to you. I'll transfer you over to him now, ok?"

"Ok sweetheart.."

Tom Lennox voice chirps on the phone, "Bill, I'll put you through right now."

"Thanks Tom." You smarmy bastard.

"Bill," President Wayne Palmer's voice is smooth and dignified as always, but I sense the underlying tension. "How's Jack getting on with Fletcher?"

"He's working on him now, Mr President. If anyone can extract information from a suspect its Bauer."

I watch through the glass as Jack suddenly lunges forward and pushes Fletcher's chair back onto the concrete floor, standing on his throat. His eyes bulge as he gasps for air.

"Remember what I said, Bill. Any means necessary, ok?"

"I'm pretty sure Jack's taken you to heart on that one, Mr President.."

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You like?


	8. Chapter 8

**Rest stop**

**A/N: One of my favourite chapters to write- did this one months ago, before I even came up with the rest of the story!**

**Tigerlily asked me a continuity question as to how Doyle and Nadia would be able to rent a car etc if they're missing/presumed dead. In chapter 4, Bill asked Chloe to forge some fake documents for them both. Sorry if this wasn't made very clear- I tend to assume other people follow my rather un-linear way of thinking! I know her same questions would apply to this chapter- which would be along the lines of: "how do Doyle and Nadia rent a seedy motel room? etc" Hehe, just a lead-in to this chapter. Thanks Tigerlily. Hope you all like it!**

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_**Doyle…**_

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We've just driven into Seattle and I'm goddamn exhausted- practically 17 hours straight driving and I don't even know what day it is anymore. It's raining too. Pretty heavily. That combined with the darkness means my eyes are hurting a little. Still, at least there's no snow. That would have been worse.

As if Nadia senses I'm tired, she breaks the silence. It's the first time one of us has spoken for more than two hours. "Do you want to stop and rest for a while?" she ventures, turning to face me. In the half darkness, save for the lights from the few approaching vehicles, her eyes look even more intense than usual.

"That might be a good idea," I admit, not wanting her to know how I was worried about falling asleep at the wheel. The motion of the windscreen wipers in the pouring rain is practically hypnotic and my eyelids are a little heavy. My eyes follow the roadmarkers for another five kilometres or so, and then I spot a sign pointing off to the left advertising some seedy motel with an all-night diner. With relief, I indicate the Toyota and pull into the practically empty parking lot.

"You hungry?" I ask, turning to face her as I switch off the engine. I'm a little concerned by how quiet she's being.

She lifts her shoulders a little sombrely, the neon glare from the diner highlights the bruises on her face; she looks like some kind of battered wife. I wince. "I'm not really hungry," she admits, "but some coffee wouldn't go amiss."

I nod as I step out of the car, "OK, wait here a second, I'll just go and see if this place has security cameras-" something I highly doubt- "oh, and put this on.." I throw her my Knicks cap and she does as instructed, it goes some way to hiding the bruises on her temple. I pull on my hooded sweater, lock the car after me and dart through the rain into the brightly-lit diner.

A quick reccy of the building reveals my initial suspicions were correct: no cameras, thank goodness. Hell, why bother in a joint like this? The place is practically deserted, save for a couple of truckers slumped over at the counter, talking to a grizzly looking waitress who's pouring them drinks. I head back out to the car where Nadia is waiting patiently, and unlock it for her.

"All clear," I announce rather unnecessarily, as a ghost of a smile creeps over her busted lip as she rubs her hands together, shivering. I'm guessing she must be pretty cold by now, since the temperatures dropped so much- I know I am- and I concede that coffee will probably do both of us some good.

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We sit opposite each other in one of the cramped booths. Christ, this place is awful, all linoleum floors, squeaky plastic seats and oversized fifties memorabilia pinned to the wall. Even an Elvis Clock, which tells us it's nearly 11:30pm indicated by his dangling leg and arm. Cute.

She's looking down at her hands which are clenched around her coffee mug in a death grip. I'm looking at the wall, at the ceiling, at that damn clock, anywhere but at her face. I hate seeing the bruises marring her skin.

They remind me that she could have so easily been killed today.

I'm uncomfortable with her in this bright, artificial light. At least in the darkness of the car it was easier to be sullen, to hide my true emotions from her. Luckily though, she doesn't seem to be focusing her attention on me at all. Her fingers move from playing with the mug to fiddling with the tatty curled ends of the waxy menu the waitress set in front of us.

Rain spatters against the windows and I reflect that however bad this place is, at least we're warm and dry in here.

I feel awkward at the silence between us, but she doesn't seem too disconcerted by it. I guess her mind is elsewhere. I realise that this is the first time we've been in a situation where we might have to _talk_, since… that day I guess.

"Nadia.."

She lifts her eyes to look at me. The second they meet mine, I forget whatever it was I was going to say. "You um, want something to eat?" I offer, lamely.

She pushes the menu towards me. "I'm honestly not that hungry," she says softly, "but you go ahead and eat something if you want to. You've been driving for hours and you've not eaten anything all day."

"Neither have you," I point out, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. Man, it tastes like crap, but at least it's hot.

Damn it, why is it so… _hard_ with her? Fair enough, I'm not exactly a people person, I'm the first to admit that, but I've never had a problem talking to women in the past, though I do generally try my best to avoid it. Relationships only complicate things and mess you up. Nadia though, isn't exactly like most women. For a start, she's smart. Real smart, as evidenced by the homegrown terrorist cell she's managed to uncover all on her own, despite the trouble it's gotten her into. When most women would scream and run, she doesn't. She faces the whole thing head on.

Which is why I guess I'm so thrown by the tears I suddenly see welling in her eyes.

Shit.

The feeling that hits me all of a sudden is kind of like the one I had back on that day months ago, when Milo had just been shot and she was looking at me with those big Hershey's chocolate coloured eyes of hers. Back then I wanted to hug her, even though I knew there was no way in hell she would want _me _anywhere near her. Especially after I'd had my fingers around her throat only hours earlier.

It's kind of the same now.

"Are you OK?" I ask her stupidly. I know she's not, but I really don't know what else to say or do, short of pulling her into my arms and holding her, which I really know will probably earn me some kind of slap or something.

She blinks a couple of times and just like that, the tears are gone. "I'm fine," she tells me firmly.

Hell, it's not like she'd tell me anything, even if she wasn't.

"Excuse me a second," she mumbles, standing up and exiting the booth. She heads towards the ladies bathroom, passing the two remaining truckers who are just leaving the diner. I watch her as she pushes open the swinging doors, dismayed that I really didn't know what to do or say to make her feel better.

I'm crummy with people, and I'm even worse with tears.

"What can I getcha honey?" the waitress asks, breaking my Nadia-induced reverie. I look up startled, and see her hovering above me, holding out a pad of paper, impatiently waiting to take my order.

"Um…" I quickly flip open the menu, my eyes falling on the first thing I see. "Can I get a grilled cheese sandwich please? Actually, better make that two." I know she's said she's not hungry, but I figure that she really needs to eat something. The last thing I need is her collapsing on me. She looks thinner than I can remember actually. I guess she's not been eating much recently with this whole business.

The waitress writes the order down and totters away on spindly heels.

I sigh and sink back in the booth. I wonder if Nadia is OK. I really hope she's not crying in there. I contemplate going over and knocking on the restroom door, wondering what her reaction would be- telling me to go the hell away probably- and actually rise in my seat, considering it. I quickly sit back down, not wanting to incur her wrath. I imagine she probably just wants to be alone right now. I'm pretty sure I'm the last person she wants to see.

I feel relieved a couple of minutes later when she walks out of there. She slides quietly back into the booth, just as the waitress puts the two plates down in front of us. Nadia looks at me questioningly. Her eyes are kind of bright, but I can't ascertain if she's been crying or not.

"You need to eat _something_," I say, by way of explanation, eyeing what's on my own plate, "although these don't exactly look substantial." I look dubiously at my 'sandwich' made on limp white bread and nestled on the plate amid some scrawny lettuce leaves and a slice of tomato, and hesitantly pick it up and take a little bite.

Aw crap, if she wasn't crying before, then she might start now.

"Good?" she asks me with a little smile, as I valiantly attempt to swallow. I give up and spit it into my napkin, prodding at the bread on the plate. Luminous, radioactive cheese oozes out.

Perhaps I've just been poisoned.

"Holy crap!" I splutter, shuddering, "on second thoughts, do not eat that. Seriously. It'll make you sick."

Her smile gets a little bigger as she pushes her plate away and I push mine to one side. Oh well, if nothing else tonight, at least I made her smile.

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We leave the diner ten minutes later, having drunk the coffee and sat in silence staring out at the rain- I've given the skanky waitress a better tip than she deserves. I'm a little more alert now, but not exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of driving on through the night again, especially in this ferocious wind that seems to have picked up, in conjunction with the pouring rain. It lashes the trees overhead, and makes the power-lines sway dangerously. I hate driving in bad conditions, especially with my screwed up eyesight. I tend to overcompensate on distances now, whereby it used to be second nature to me.

I jump a little as a clap of thunder breaks overhead and groan silently. Great- because I really wanted to drive even further in this lousy weather.

Nadia scampers to the car, avoiding the puddles, as I follow, struggling to see properly with the water streaming down my face. She turns and says something to me. The wind whips away her words.

"What?" I ask.

She raises her voice to be heard above the howling wind. "I said: maybe we should stay here tonight."

She gestures with her head to the motel adjoining the diner.

In the darkness with all the rain, the blurry red lights make it look even sleazier, but the sign in the window proffers "vacancies." Can't exactly say I'm surprised at that, as I rapidly consider the pro's and cons of this new solution:

_1. I hate driving in the rain, especially when it's dark and I still can't see properly._

_2. I'm absolutely exhausted and if I fall asleep at the wheel I'll crash and kill us anyway._

_3. I don't know how much more of being cooped up with Nadia Yassir I can take tonight, especially when she looks so damn vulnerable and all I want to do is hold her. Maybe getting away from the confines of the car would be a good thing…_

_4.Um.._

Yeah, like I need another reason.

Another clap of thunder quickly makes my decision for me. "Grab your bag," I tell her, unlocking the boot, "we'll stay here for a couple of hours and head out early in the morning."

Not that it actually matters. We're on the run, no real structured plans other than to keep moving.

She nods in assent as we make our way to the motel reception.

It's as empty as the diner was, and exchanging a little look with Nadia, I ring the little gold bell on reception. Some beefy guy in a Hawaiian shirt appears, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, I very pointedly ask him about non-smoking rooms as Nadia coughs and waves away the thick cloud of smoke above her head. He hands me a laminated tariff which I run my eyes over briefly. At this point I'm past caring about prices anyways.

I then flinch as he leers a little at Nadia, asking whether or not we want the 'honeymoon suite.'

Jerk.

If I didn't think it would draw too much attention to us, I'd punch him in the mouth.

Like Nadia senses I'm pissed, she throws me an appeasing smile.

I shrug and slap a couple of twenties on the counter and he takes our fake passports and runs his eyes over them briefly. He tosses us a key on some cracked wooden fob and points his thumb down the corridor, a knowing smirk on his face, leering at Nadia's ass as he then disappears back into his office.

Hell, at this point I'm too tired to care about anything anymore, least of all whether some random guy thinks I'm getting _laid_ or not tonight. Nadia trudges after me silently. I open the door with some difficulty as the lock seems pretty stiff. The room is clean at least, if a little sparse and thankfully doesn't reek of nicotine as I'd kind of expected it to. There's a double bed pushed up against one wall, with some kind of seventies throwback comforter, a hideous bedside lamp covered in garish flowers, a knotty wardrobe and a rickety wooden couch.

Whatever, I really couldn't give a shit about the motels décor at this point in time. It's been hours since I slept and despite her napping in the car earlier, she looks tired too. I guess since this whole mess started she's not really been sleeping much either. I lock the door behind us and check the deadbolt, then look through the papery curtains at the still empty parking lot, well, empty aside from the couple of hookers loitering outside. How quaint.

Nadia drops her bag with a little sigh and sits on the couch, looking completely exhausted and drained. She pulls off the cap and her satiny hair falls down her shoulders. Her clothes are as drenched as mine are, and sticking to her which is making it kind of hard for me to concentrate, so after checking the room carefully, I go in the bathroom where I find a hand towel and hand it to her. She dries her face and hair, wincing as she catches the bruises from earlier.

They're changing from red to purple now. I hate seeing her looking like this.

She pulls some clothes from her bag along with a pink toothbrush she got at some restroom vending machine. "I'm going to go change," she says as she disappears into the bathroom.

I sit on the bed for just a moment, collecting my thoughts, then cross to the wardrobe where I pull out a fluffy woollen blanket and a couple of spare pillows, which feel kind of flat, but they'll do for tonight. I'm placing them on the couch when the bathroom door opens again.

"What are you doing?" she asks, clad in some kind of oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. I am inwardly relived, as they don't cling to every curve and contour of her petite body the way her wet things did. Right away I am able to focus better.

"Making up the couch."

"Why?" she asks.

"So you can take the bed."

"You can't sleep on that. You'll put your back out."

I eye the wooden framed couch, though I'd been thinking the same thing myself. "It's not so bad."

"Right," she says in a way that clearly indicates she doesn't agree with me. She folds her arms. "If that's the way you feel then maybe you should have just got two rooms, rather than bother about what Mr Hawaiian shirt thought about us."

_That's_ what she thinks?

"It's nothing to do with that! I'm just not letting you out of my sight," I tell her more seriously as I kick off my sneakers, "at least, not for the moment."

Her lips curl upwards in a little smirk as she crosses to the bed, "what, are you going to shower with me, too?"

I feel the tips of my ears turning red as I pull out my own vending machine toothbrush and some dry clothes myself and push past her into the bathroom. Hell, maybe we should have just stayed in the car after all.

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When I come out of the bathroom, she's curled up on the bed, her hands around her knees. Her eyes follow me as I cross to the couch. It's a little unnerving, being watched so closely.

"You ok?" I ask, turning to face her. I sense that she maybe wants to talk, but I know for sure I'd be the last person she'd want to share anything with.

She nods silently in answer to my question and then rolls over to face the wall.

The thunder rumbles ominously overhead and she pulls the blankets up tighter around her face.

With a little frown, I switch off the light and lay down on the couch. After making sure my gun is right where I can get to it should I need to, I try and make myself at least a little comfortable, but damn it, Nadia was right. My back is going to be _screwed_ by morning.

I spend the next ten minutes fidgeting with the blanket and plumping the pillows and then finally Nadia sits up and turns to face me. In the darkness I can still see her eyes glittering.

"What is _up_ with you?" she whispers loudly.

"Nothing."

"Cut the crap Doyle, it's that damn sofa, isn't it?"

"The sofa is fine."

"Don't give me that. I can hear you tossing and turning from here. Seriously. Take the other half of the bed. It's the only way either of us are going to get any sleep."

"I am not sharing the bed with you, Nadia," I protest.

"Why the hell not?" she sounds offended and I sigh.

"Because it isn't exactly professional for me to share a bed with the person I'm supposed to be protecting. That's why."

"Oh." I see her shrug a little as my eyes get used to the darkness. "Oh well, whatever."

She lies back down as I grimace, trying to be quieter as I desperately try and get myself more settled on the sofa. After a couple of minutes I hear her breathing deeply, and I'm relieved that at least one of us will sleep tonight.

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**You like? Feedback please. Pretty please.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Making a break**

**A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews guys- they make me write faster! Hope you like this chapter!**

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_**Karen…**_

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I terminate my cell phone conversation with Bill, sighing despondently. I hate being so far away from my husband, especially when he's going through a crisis such as this one. He nearly gave his job up six months ago, and I know it's at times like this when he wishes he had done.

When he wishes he'd moved back with me to Washington.

Or wishes that_ I_ hadn't been re-instated to Homeland Security and that we'd just moved to Vermont as planned. To our cosy little weekend retreat in Burlington where we could ski and eat s'mores around the fire. Early retirement: bliss.

It's _not _his fault.

Just sometimes he takes things too much to heart and it takes a lot of convincing to make him believe otherwise.

He's doing his best to rectify the situation, and he will, because he's a terrific man and he's damn good at his job.

"Are you Ok, Karen?" I look up at the concerned voice and rub my temples soothingly. Tom Lennox is stood at the threshold to my office, holding a stack of papers.

"Just concerned about Bill," I admit as involuntarily my eyes rest on the photograph of us on my desk.

I miss him.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Tom assures me kindly; he's being nice, despite the fact that he _knows_ Bill thinks he's a bit of a rat, "but in the meantime, please do you think you could give me a hand re-drafting this speech? The President has to go before the press in thirty minutes with his thoughts on the new environmental bill and I'm just a little worried it's lacking its usual finesse."

He hands me the paper, feigning nonchalance as I skim it, and I suppress a smile at how he's so obviously trying to distract me from what is going on in LA.

But it works.

At least for the moment.

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_**Bill…**_

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Jack broke Fletcher eventually. I kind of figured he would, but I think we were both surprised at how far Jack had to go to do it.

Seven broken fingers, two black eyes, a fractured cheekbone and a vast amount of Sodium Pentothal or 'truth serum' copiously administered by one of our medical team.

Fletcher was singing like a canary by the time Jack was done.

He gave us the location of the warehouse where Harper _was _holding the chemical weapons. Somewhere downtown. We highly doubt Harper (and the chemical weapons) are there now, but there might be some kind of clues.

Jack's taken the Field Ops team and he's on route there now.

We need to make a break in this somewhere.

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_**Jack…**_

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We park our CTU regulation jeeps two blocks from the location of the warehouse, down the block from Echo Park, figuring the tree coverage will give us a bit of camouflage. As I glance up at the skyline of office buildings intermingled with vast amounts of greenery, I dial Chloe's station.

"O'Brien."

"It's me," I click in my earpiece. "You guys getting this?"

"Loud and clear," comes her reassuring voice. "Morris is just linking up the satellite."

"No one else is in the system are they?" I ask, concerned about more data breaches.

"Jack its Bill. We rerouted all external and internal filters and blocked them out with static. We're the only ones who have access to what's going on down there."

"What can you see on satellite?" I ask, pulling out my PDA.

"We're uploading it to you now;" Chloe informs me, "around the warehouse perimeter there appears to be seven or eight vehicles and some shipping containers. From the outset it appears to be a pretty generic logistical transport warehouse, as it is purported to be."

"_Inside_ however," Bill continues, "there are at least thirty people showing up on thermal imaging software, most of who seem to be located in the rear of the warehouse. I'd say whatever's in there warrants pretty serious protection. Judging by the heat the sensors are given off, I'd deduce its some kind of electronic equipment."

"Do you think Harper could be in there?" I question.

"I'd say that's pretty unlikely," Bill admits, "but certainly some of his men could be, their systems or maybe even some of the chemical weapons, if this is where they've been built."

"What do you want me to do, Bill?" I eye the Field Ops team around me. They're young and keen. They'll become jaded soon enough.

"Tell your men to take the east entrance to the warehouse," Bill says after a moment, "there's only two guards posted on it. In the meantime, I want you to go in the back way and head straight for whatever it is they're crowding around. Hopefully the disturbance at the east will draw some of them out, which means you can get in there and sort this thing. Take a couple of guys with you for cover. Do not shoot to kill, ok? And Jack, be careful."

"Copy that." I disconnect and relay Bill's message to the team.

Let's roll.

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I'm thinking about Audrey, as myself and a couple of the Field Ops guys creep around the back of the perimeter, guns stealthily drawn.

I miss her.

And I know _now's_ not the time to be thinking about my relationship- or lack thereof- but I can't get her out of my mind.

I hate the thought of her sitting alone in her room at that rehab place, nice as it is. Her dad visits her a couple of times a week, which means I take the opportunity to swing by on the days he _doesn't _go and might see me there. She was the sole reason I moved up to Montana and took the job with that crappy security firm where no one really knows who I am. I know CTU thought I'd gone dark, and a guess in a way I did. The only person I kept in contact with was Chloe.

I needed to be near Audrey, in case, by some miracle she starts getting well again.

I just wanted to be 'Jack' for a while. Not 'Agent Bauer.'

Thing is, I'm beginning to realise exactly how much I've missed CTU _and_ being Agent Bauer. Go figure. I guess this kind of job has a way of worming its way under your skin. I don't think I've ever been good at anything else. I certainly wasn't the best husband or father in the world, which is demonstrated by Terri's death, my non-relationship with Kim, and just _look_ where my being Audrey's boyfriend got _her. _Much as it pains me to admit it, even if she does start to recover, I know her father was right, me being with her will just prove detrimental to her in the long run.

Because I _am_ cursed.

I blink to, as Chloe's voice sounds in my ear; "OK Jack, we have you on thermal imaging and your camera feeds are coming back nice and clear. We have this whole thing covered."

"Jack," Bill says, "tell your Ops guys on the east entrance to move.. now."

"Confirmed," I speak into my mic-link to my second-in-command. He _was_ in charge but thankfully doesn't seem too pissed I'm heading up this operation. He's young and a bit of a hot-head. Its times like this that make me miss Tony and Curtis Manning more than ever, or even wish Doyle was here instead of god knows where, despite him being such a damn stickler for protocol. "Agent Rogers, are you receiving me?"

"Go ahead Jack."

"You are good to go," I tell him, "and for god's sakes, be careful."

I hear him bark out commands to the agents beside him, then tense when seconds later I hear the sudden burst of gunshots from inside the warehouse. "Ok," I tell the two agents beside me, "let's do this."

It seems Bill was right, as we crash through the splintery wooden doors into the back of the warehouse, most of the people who _were_ there have rushed to the front to the sounds of the shooting and there's only half a dozen left in here. I take out a couple of guys in the leg easily, nothing like the element of surprise to give you the advantage. We pull on masks as the smoke canisters from the front of the warehouse roll through toward us and the rest of the field ops team barge through.

The sounds of the shooting reside as I point a gun at one of the guys hovering near one of the storage containers. "Where is Geoff Harper?" I snarl.

He holds up his hands, at first I think he's surrendering, but that's when I see the cell-phone in his hand.

"No!" I shout, instinctively diving toward the left, providing cover for my men.

He presses the dial button.

The noise is deafening and the sudden brightness and orange flames blind me, as right before our eyes, the storage container in front of us explodes, along with the three men guarding it.

Freakin' kamikaze terrorists freaks with their damn cell phone bombs. Why do they always have to kill themselves when it's just starting to get interesting?

I stare at the rubble of the container and the burnt bodies despondently, at the same time taking in the debris of all the IT equipment and computer system. It _would_ have undoubtedly provided valuable insight into this case as I'm pretty sure Chloe or Morris could have pulled something off it, but has been practically obliterated in the blast and now all that remains is a crispy metal shell. I cough the acrid smoke from my lungs in sheer frustration, staggering to my feet. "DAMNIT!"

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Bill… 

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"Jack!" concerned I watch the static fuzz on the camera and am relieved when Jack staggers to his feet. "Thank god.."

"I'm ok," his voice sounds crackly but he quickly assesses the damage and I see exactly what he's seeing through his camera feed and eye the fallen bodies with concern; "I have three of my men down! Three suspected fatalities and um…" he eyes the blown up body parts over by the melted storage container, "a lot of limbs lying around- suspects have been detained. I repeat: suspects have been detained. Or killed. Get medical assistance in here immediately!"

As he barks out orders like he never left, Chloe and Morris' fingers fly across their computer keys. Simultaneously they've been decrypting files on Harper and Fletcher's computer system, although they've found nothing yet, whilst aiding me with this. They're the only people here I'd trust with this responsibility.

"Helicopter on route," Morris informs me as he begins cross-referencing a multitude of files. I'm amazed with their multi-tasking.

"Jack, was their computer system _totally_ destroyed?" Chloe asks him flipping from screen to screen. "Is there anything left?"

"It's pretty melted," Jack replies, kneeling down and skimming the shards of glass and plastic on the ground as Chloe frowns.

"Jack, turn back to the left a second," I order him suddenly. I think I just saw something.

He moves his head to the left and I concentrate on the screen. "At your feet," I say, "there's something there."

He kneels down as I watch the motion of the camera intently. "It's a computer chip," he says, careful not to touch it. "Someone get me some latex gloves!"

"Is it intact?" Morris asks, joining me at the monitor.

"It looks to be," Jack says after a second. "There's a couple of wires sticking out of it but it's all in one piece otherwise."

"Bring it back here immediately," I say quickly, "we might be able to pull something off it or at least Morris can repair it and we can try to de-fragment it."

"Copy that," Jack's voice sounds a little distant as he signs off and disconnects the camera, I realise instantly that he feels bad some of his men lost their lives. "I'll be back at CTU in twenty minutes."

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**A little actiony- more from Nadia next time! Hope you liked it :0)**


	10. Chapter 10

**On the road again**

**A/N: The morning after- its kind of a short chapter, just wanting to build a bit of background between Nadia and Doyle, but hope you guys like it anyway. Will post another of couple of chapters I'm in the process of editing as soon as I finish writing this stupid report I have to publish for work. Ugh, meetings...**

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_**Nadia…**_

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Next morning when I wake up, I don't know where the hell I am. I'm lying under some horrible flowery quilt that smells of mothballs and my body kind of feels like I imagine it would if I'd been hit by a truck. Every muscle is aching. I wearily turn over and am hit by dull light filtering in through some papery red curtains.

I sit up as I instantly become aware of my surroundings, memories hitting me of what went on yesterday, as I run a hand through my ratty hair, disorientated.

On the other side of the room, Doyle is sleeping on that uncomfortable-looking couch; his long legs sprawled out, the covers half-on, half-off. He looks peaceful, relaxed. Kind of cute actually, snuggled into the fluffy blanket. His gun is down beside him and I hide a wry smile. Figures that he'd take his gun to bed with him.

Careful so as not to wake him, I slide out of bed and tiptoe into the tiny bathroom. I quietly shut the door and turn on the light, groaning inwardly when I see my reflection in the mirror. My bruises look even worse today. I wished to god I'd had some makeup in my gym bag so I could hide them, but I guess that cover-up wasn't exactly my top priority yesterday. Maybe we can find a pharmacy and I can get him to get me something. I smile inwardly at the thought of Doyle purchasing foundation or concealer for me. So _not_ going to happen.

I switch on the shower, barely a trickle of water comes from the head as I pull off my clothes and stand under the spray. Figures. It's freezing too. I lather on some shampoo, being careful not to rub too hard on the bump on my head and then let out a little squeal of surprise as suddenly the water starts rapidly steaming up, a cascade of water comes out and the temperature increases by about fifty degrees.

"Nadia! Nadia are you ok?" he bangs on the bathroom door, sounding worried and sleepy all at once.

_Sheesh._

"I'm ok," I call back, gingerly trying to rinse off the rest of the shampoo suds without scalding myself. What did he think was going to happen? Harper was going to break through the ceiling tiles and attack me in the bathroom?

Hopefully people still think I'm dead. The longer they think that, the safer we'll be.

I'm touched by Doyle's concern however. It's kind of nice having someone looking out for me, even though I can tell I'm the last person he'd want to be stuck with, especially in some seedy motel.

I think I kind of embarrassed him last night too, and part of me felt a little triumphant about it. Is that bad?

Ok, so by now I'm guessing it's pretty obvious that I have a thing for him. I say 'thing' because I'm not quite sure what you'd call it and most of the time I don't even like the guy as a person. Sexual attraction, chemistry? Whatever. I know the guy can't stand me, which is what makes it worse. Totally one-sided feelings on my part. Go figure.

The realisation of this _thing_ actually hit me a couple of month's back, on what was (up until yesterday) presumably the worst day of my life. People were dying all over the place, _he'd_ recently had me in some kind of choke-hold thinking me to be a terrorist- Yeah right, though the neck thing _is_ kind of becoming a recurring pattern- and I was making the worst decisions. They'd appointed me as temporarily in charge of CTU and I was so completely unprepared for it. Milo died, this incredibly sweet, caring guy who I later found out was in love with me, and he died saving my life -which made it even worse because I didn't love him back- and I just wanted to go to bed and cry and forget about the world for a while. Then I looked up into Mike's face and for some reason really, _really_ wanted him to hug me.

As I stated yesterday, I'm pretty sure he's not a touchy-feely kind of guy.

But I still wanted him to do it.

Does that make me completely pathetic or what?

I get out of the shower and I'm drying off when I remember that my clean clothes are back in the bedroom. I close my eyes briefly.

_Totally_ pathetic. Where the hell is my mind this morning?

"Um, Mike?" I call.

"Yes?" his voice is muffled through the door.

"Uh, my clothes are kind of in there and I'm just wearing a towel…" I let my voice trail off. _Shit, that sounds suggestive, I didn't mean it to._

"I'll wait outside the door whilst you get dressed." Is it just me, or does he sound amused?

Whatever.

I dress in yesterday's pants and a clean white t-shirt I keep on standby in my locker for the gym, and then open the door. He's pacing the corridor outside, wearing the beat up 'Denver Bronco's t-shirt and khaki shorts that he slept in.

"Morning," he mutters.

Wow, guess he's not exactly Mr Sunshine first thing. Or any time of the day come to mention it.

"Morning," I answer, feeling myself blushing as he runs his eyes over my bruised face in consternation.

I hate it when people see me without make-up and now he's seeing me at my worst ever. I might look like a victim, but I don't have to act like one. I cross my arms defensively and challenge him with my eyes.

"I'll shower and then we'll head off whilst its still dawn," he says, clearly thinking better of making any comment on what I look like and grabbing some clothes as he heads into the bathroom, tiredly rubbing his bleary eyes. "Pack your stuff and make sure you don't leave anything behind, just in case."

Does he think I'm stupid?

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We're in the car again. Back on the open road, ho hum.

The sun is rising and the air is all crispy and fresh after last night's storm. It would be kind of a beautiful day, I mean, if the circumstances were different and I wasn't an intended murder target for terrorists.

As it is, we're driving down some country road, avoiding as many major highways as possible as they have better satellite coverage which these guys might be able to intercept. The radio is on, Mike's listening out for traffic news, but at the moment some kind of crappy sixties tune is on. Impatiently he yanks the dial and switches to another frequency. Soft rock music fills the car, which seems to appease his grumpy tendency. _Definitely not a morning person._

I know we're heading further north, aiming for Canada, but other than that, I have no real sense of direction. Never have done. Even with one of those GPS things in my own car, I still have the tendency to get lost back in LA. I'm glad he doesn't ask me to drive, though I will if he wants to nap.

He looks tired still, and keeps rubbing his neck like he didn't sleep so good on that shitty sofa. Well, I did warn him. Even offered to share the bed with him (no sexual intentions, honestly), but _no.._. He always has to play by the book.

I bet he's regretting not sharing now.

I feel guilty however that he's even in this situation in the first place. Because of me, what I found out, he came back to work and was instantly thrown into this god-awful scenario where he has to baby-sit me, when he should have been looking forward to running tactical.

I bet he totally resents me for it.

I sneak a look at him out of the corner of my eye. Oh Hell, he's doing that thing with his mouth again. He does it a lot, probably isn't even aware of it, when he bites on his lower lip when he's concentrating on something.

Damnit he has great lips, it always makes me wonder what kind of kisser he'd be: slow and tender? Fast and urgent?

I snap back to attention. I cannot _believe_ that even in this situation, my thoughts are heading in _that_ direction.

_Can it, Nadia._

We drive through another random town in the middle of nowhere- population- probably about twenty people, and he pulls off at some tiny diner which looks a darn sight better than that hellhole we stopped at last night. It's kitsch with a big slice of plastic pink cake hanging over the roof, a packet of fries concealing the chimney, and a big fluorescent sign advertising malted drinks, waffles and milkshakes, proclaiming them to be 'the best these side of the Rockies!'

"You hungry?" he asks me, as his eyes study the building.

"A little more than yesterday," I'm surprised to realise all of a sudden.

"Good." He seems pleased by this news. Well, he didn't smile or anything but his face moved slightly and his voice changed a little.

We both notice the security camera at the same time, pointing above the door, disguised as a hotdog bun. Without being asked, I pull on his Knicks cap and slouch lower in my seat. I know the drill by now.

"What do you want?" he asks me.

"Um, I don't usually have time to eat breakfast," I volunteer a little sheepishly, "maybe a bagel or some fruit or something would be good."

He rolls his eyes, "you do realise breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you moonlighted as a nutritionist in your free time."

"Wait here," he cautions me dryly, hopping out of the car and pulling up his hood, as an 18-wheeler truck pulls alongside us. I feign sleep, turning my head away as the driver gets out, as Doyle heads into the restaurant.

Five minutes later he slides back into the front seat, carrying a takeout bag smelling of something really great and carrying two cartons of coffee, which he hands to me. He drives us further down the block and pulls off into some vast industrial estate, into a pit stop. Free of cameras, I yank that cap off. I hate hat hair.

I open the paper bag and smile appreciatively. "Muffins.."

He dumps some sugar and creamer into his coffee, gazing at our surroundings, "and your requested fruit salad… and the food actually _looks_ edible."

The muffins taste even better than they look. All fluffy and sweet. Blueberry and cinnamon. Bliss. It's the first time I've tasted anything for days. I'm sipping my coffee and he's chewing thoughtfully on his second muffin when he looks at me.

"Nadia?"

"Mm?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone else at CTU what was going on with Harper and Fletcher?" _A question_! He actually instigated some kind of conversation!

I shrug and set my coffee down on the dashboard, slowly eating a chunk of pineapple as I consider my answer. "I guess because there was nobody really I could tell. It was pretty obvious Bill didn't believe me because they_were_ pretty convincing actors, and I didn't want to involve Chloe and Morris because of the baby, though I think they had their own suspicions."

"Was there not anyone else there who could have helped you?"

I shake my head slowly, "I guess… well, if maybe you or Jack Bauer had been there then I would have told you, but there was nobody else I could trust."

He looks gratified for a moment and then goes back to looking out of the window again.

God, he doesn't exactly say much, does he?

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**More from Jack next time. If you liked, press that little purple button... :0)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Blood on my hands…**

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_**Jack…**_

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I don't think we've ever had this many suspects in CTU all at once before, it's like some mass terrorist orgy.

The wounded guys we nailed in the warehouse operation are hauled into CTU as I assess them appraisingly, trying to work out which of them will be the most susceptible to pain, which I intend to cause a lot of. To my chagrin they all look pretty wilful, their asses were patched up enough on-route so as to be 'comfortable' enough to talk (be interrogated) and even though there's a lot of blood I don't hear so much as one protest.

I for one, intend to use whatever means possible to get them to talk. Hey, Presidents orders. It's not as if I get off on pain, I just have a forceful personality.

Bill greets me as the Field Ops guys and I head back into the building. "Good work Jack," he says, looking pleased that we caught so many of these bastards. Unfortunately _not_ Geoff Harper, but they will start spilling his location soon. I guarantee it.

"Thanks," I say a little darkly as the guys are led into the separate cells. _Good work_ sure, but people still died. "How are Chloe and Morris getting on looking at Fletcher and Harpers systems?" They've been trying to decode a mountain of locked files ever since Nadia and Doyle headed out, whilst simultaneously aiding Bill and I with this whole warehouse operation. I feel kind of bad for Chloe having so much undue stress in her condition, but on the other hand she does live with Morris O'Brien so she must be kind of used to it.

"Not so good," Bill reveals regretfully. "There's so much encrypted data on there it's untrue and when they _are_ managing to hack into stuff it's mostly junk anyway. Harper's playing cat and mouse."

"They'll find something," I say, because I'm sure of it. "Any more from Fletcher?"

"Nope. Maybe we'll give him a little more truth serum when he gets over the last dose and see what we can get out of him."

I nod in agreement; "Have you spoken to Karen?"

"She was presenting some environmental bill with David Palmer," Bill responds, "but she's calling me back for an update as soon as the press conference is finished. I guess that gives you time to start on the interrogating."

"Yup," I crack my knuckles, trying to quell that familiar, never forgotten feeling of anticipation I always get when I know I'm gonna have to get heavy with a suspect. A mixture of aggression, tension and kind of worryingly, excitement.

Down boy.

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_**Karen…**_

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Tom and I clap dutifully as Wayne Palmer winds up the press conference with his usual distinguished summary and polite responses to the journalists' inane questions. The bill was well received and I feel relief that now we can concentrate on more important matters.

"Go and call Bill," Tom suggests, "I'll detract any questions here, and the President will want a full update on the situation in LA and the warehouse operation as soon as he gets off the stage."

With a grateful smile, I pull out my cell and dive into an empty conference room. Bill answers right away.

"Buchanan."

"It's me, honey. You ok?"

"We're holding up."

I sigh with relief; "what happened at the warehouse? Did Jack find anything?"

"Some of Harpers men are in custody at CTU as we speak. There was an explosion at the warehouse- it mostly contained storage containers that seemed to be full of electronic equipment- no chemical weapons. Most of the equipment was damaged in the blast and CTU sustained several casualties. Some of Harper's men were guarding whatever was in those containers and martyred themselves. A few were merely wounded and Jack is getting ready to prep them for interrogation."

"But you didn't get Harper?"

"Not yet, but we will." Bill's voice is determined as always and I suppress a smile at his steeliness.

"Have you heard from Nadia and Doyle yet?"

"Not yet, but they're scheduled to make their first phone call to CTU tonight. Let's just hope we have a little good news to tell them," his voice is grim now and I can sense how worried he is about them being out on the road and potentially at risk. I don't push the issue.

"You'll _have_ good news; Jack managed to abstract information from Fletcher so I'm _sure _he can get Intel from these others," I assure him. I'm pretty familiar with Jack's somewhat off-the-hook mode of operating and he and Bill always work well together. Jack went dark for a while, but the obvious respect he feels for my husband evidently drew him back to CTU to help in this crisis and that thought warms me. If I'm not there to make sure Bill's ok, I'm sure glad Jack Bauer's watching his back.

"We have thirteen men in custody," Bill states, "that's a lot of interrogation."

"What else?" I bite my little fingernail anxiously.

"Jack recovered a computer chip from the warehouse," he says, "it's partially damaged because of the explosion but Morris is trying to de-fragment it."

"Do you think he'll pull anything off it?" I question, "how much damage did it sustain?"

"Morris says it's some kind of EPROM memory chip," Bill relates wryly, "whatever the hell _that_ means, but Chloe seems to get it. He said that the data should still be stored on the chip because the only way it can be wiped is if it's exposed to UV light which it hasn't been as far as we're aware, merely an explosion. The chip's kinda burnt but the transistors themselves don't seem to be damaged too badly so he thinks he can reset them."

Because I understand _so_ much about computers; "Uh-huh. Um, Bill… do you have _any _idea what you just said?"

I can almost sense his grin through the other end of the receiver. God, I miss him.

"Nope," he says, "it's just more techno cyber babble to me." His voice turns soft, "how are _you_ holding up, sweetie?"

"I'm ok. I just wish I was there with you."

"I know. I wish you were too."

"Bill, if you need me to, you know I'll fly over there, right? I mean, Tom can handle things from this end and---"

"Karen," he interjects gently, "much as I'd love you to be here with me, you and I both know that when it comes to matters of judgement and the President's welfare, you need to be in DC."

I'm silent and then sigh, "you're right.. I just—I miss you."

"I miss you too," he says and we both fall quiet, then I hear a noise through the static and it sounds like someone is knocking on Bill's office door.

"Honey, I have to go," he tells me quickly, "Jack's about to start with the first interrogation, ok?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and suddenly the distance between us seems more magnified than ever. Too many miles. I hate this. "Ok."

"I'll call you later," he promises.

_Damn this job. Damn both of our jobs. _

"Bye honey."

"Bye."

When I hang up the receiver I exhale miserably, plaster a smile onto my face and then head to see the President.

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**_Jack…_**

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Two down, eleven more to go. The Field Ops guys and I are alternating between interrogating and carrying out surveillance on the suspects we have in custody. All punk-ass American martyrs who for some inane reason have some kind of vendetta against the US and have decided to follow Geoff Harper on his crazed mission to wreak as much havoc as possible. The only motive so far as I can gather is money, but where the hell did Harper get so much cash from? Who's funding him?

They're all stony, defiant, even though I break a couple more fingers and punch some guys in the head. I even draw my knife on one of them with the full intention of using it, but Agent Rogers pulls me off him and tries to reason with me. By the third guy I'm losing patience.

"_Screw this_!" I hiss, storming out of the interview room. "Bill—" I corner him in his office, "I need to speak to President Palmer, ok? Now. This isn't working. I need to get heavy with them."

Bill looks up from where he's been going through some of the evidence we bagged from the warehouse fire. "Define '_heavy_,'" he says mildly, "Rogers just told me you did some serious finger breakage and pulled out a knife and there's still a whole bunch of them waiting for the Jack Bauer treatment. The other field ops guys want to leave you to it, but they're enjoying watching you through the two-way glass… this is like some kind of social experiment to them, or a learning curve."

I shrug, "we need to get more on Harper and where the hell he might be, more importantly how many other people he has behind him. I've never seen people defend someone so much. They're really prepared to die for him. I'm thinking some bigger bones broken might work, but I want to cover our asses here."

With a wry smile Bill prods at some shards of melted computer with a pair of tweezers and then sets them down. "I'll call Karen and tell her what you're suggesting," he says, "but in all honesty I'm pretty sure the President will agree with you on this one."

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Thankfully, he does. Permission granted. Enough fooling around here.

Rogers and I take it from the top. He plays bad cop, I play good cop, at least for a while. The fourth suspect is a guy from Detroit who from what we can ascertain, Harper managed to recruit through Fletcher's computer technology connections. He thinks he's so freakin' tough. Cocky bastard. We take him unawares; he's kind of startled when I turn on him. Even more startled when I break his jaw.

I'm kind of surprised too at my own strength, even more so when the guy starts laughing, kind of insanely and rocks back and forth on his chair, trying to hold his face back together. _What the hell_..?

"You under-estimate our little group," he sneers, his voice garbled from the blood as he spits out a couple of teeth onto the tiled floor. "We've been paid well, Mr Bauer. We'll never give away the whereabouts of Geoff Harper. He has the means and the capabilities to take down the transport system, CTU won't be able to stop him. How does it feel to be betrayed by one of your own?" he laughs a little shortly, "although by now you should be used to it… From what I'm aware of, this isn't the first time CTU has had a mole."

"Have _you_ been paid enough to cover the costs of _re-constructive surgery_?" I snarl, throwing him against the wall and grabbing him by the throat with what I'm sure is my most menacing expression, "because when I'm fucking finished with you you're going to have to pay for a whole new face…"

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**A/N: Hope you liked it. More from Doyle next time- just finishing up editing it now. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Another seedy motel**

**A/N: **Thanks for your reviews! Managed to get two chapters edited, first Doyle's and then a bit of Nadia/Doyle to follow. Hope you like!

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_**Doyle…**_

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Never ever let it be said that I don't know how to show a girl a good time.

Its 11:30 and we're sat in another crappy motel room. We've driven around aimlessly it seems, for the past ten hours and I'm frigging exhausted. This time I've had the sense to get a twin room though. No more shitty sofa's for me. No siree.

Nadia's sat cross-legged on her bed, flicking through some chick magazine I picked up for her at the 7-11 next door, even though I can tell she's not really concentrating on any of the no doubt informative articles and her mind is evidently elsewhere. I'm prowling around the room restlessly, on edge for some unknown reason, and I keep continuously peeking through the curtains at the empty parking lot.

Nadia looks up from the incredibly inane article she was skimming over- _"how to blitz your cellulite- get the perfect beach body this summer!"_ Yeah, like she really needs the help.

"Will you quit it?" she snaps, impatiently.

"What?"

"Pacing like that. You're making me nervous."

"Oh, sorry." With some trepidation I sit down on my bed. We're waiting for our agreed time to call CTU and wanted to do it from the warmth of some motel, rather than the car. We already switched rental cars earlier today again, downgrading from the Toyota to a crappy German estate car. I know we can't keep the same vehicle for too long, just in case.

We made it into Canada. We're in some tiny town in the middle of British Columbia and from here I haven't got a clue where to go next. We had a couple of nervy moments getting over the border with our fake passports, I damn near had my hand on my gun the whole time the border patrol guys were checking them out, but thankfully we managed the whole escapade unscathed. I guess Chloe's pretty good at the whole forgery thing, and I know she helped Jack out a few times in the past.

I feel nervous about the situation and I know Nadia is, without her even having to tell me. She's itching to find out what's going on and I can tell she's really hoping that they've managed to remand Harper into custody. One less henchman to come after her.

I'm not holding my breath though. I know from experience how these guys operate, and they're good. They must be, to stay off the radar for so long.

She tosses her magazine to the edge of her bed impatiently. "I can't concentrate on anything," she mutters, "this is driving me crazy."

The fingers of her left hand are playing restlessly with the tassels on the bedspread- _yes, I said tassels, _this place is like some kind of freakin' bordello- and she's unconsciously touching her busted lower lip with her right index finger. The swelling's started to go down a bit now. She took some painkillers earlier, I know the bump on her head's been irritating her, and that cut on her neck looks kind of sore too. All in all, she looks a little worse for wear.

How in the hell is it then, that I still find her so sexy? Yeah, that's right. Even looking like this, she still looks as sexy as hell. Not that I have a thing for injured women you understand. Ah shit. Need to get past this. Having her so close to me is NOT good for my sanity.

My watch beeps. 11:45. Time for the phone call.

I quickly dial out as Nadia sits up straighter on the bed. Bill answers on the first ring.

"Buchanan."

"It's me. Is this a secure line?"

"Chloe's re-positioned the trackers and put a temporary block on the system. She's also filtering out all internal and external calls at the moment, so you should be fine. We have two minutes," his voice is brusque; "you guys ok?"

"We've been better."

"How is she?" I hear the guilt in his voice as I glance over at Nadia. Her anxious eyes haven't left my face once.

"She's fine," I say simply, hoping it's true.

"Good. Where are you?"

"A motel." I don't elaborate geographical placing and he knows why. He might consider us to be safe, but if anyone has the capability to penetrate CTU systems, it's these guys with their technological expertise, and we know it.

"How far away are you?" He means from them.

"Maybe another couple of days." I take a deep breath and my stomach's somersaulting; "have you caught him yet, Bill?" I mean Harper.

"Not yet," Bill's voice is solemn; "it's like he's vanished off the face of the earth. Field Ops and the FBI are looking for him now. Jack managed to trace some of the members of his cell to a warehouse in downtown LA and Morris is repairing a recovered computer ch---"

Then I hear it. The faint clicking noise that tells me it's not just me and Buchanan who are party to this discussion. The noise is coming through Bill's line. My eyes widen a little and I can tell by Bill's sudden silence that he can hear it too. We're being bugged. Someone hacked their way into CTU's systems and no prizes for guessing who. Without another word, I abruptly terminate the call.

DAMNIT! I throw the phone against the wall, ensuring it is smashed into little tiny pieces and then stand on it for good measure. How long will it take them to hack into the system and triangulate our signal? To pinpoint our location? My mind is working overtime and I run my hands through my hair in frustration.

When I slowly turn to face her, she's hugging her knees and looking petrified, but when she speaks her voice is calm. "Have they found us?"

That expression is on her face again. That one where she's looking so lost and afraid.

Shit Mike, _not now_. Do not even think about hugging her at a time like this. Focus on the job. Focus. Focusfocusfocus.

"Someone was listening in through CTU's line," I tell her instead. "We need to go."

Nadia stands up on shaky legs. "Where can we go?" she asks, ramming her feet into her sneakers.

I pull on my sweater. "I'm not sure," I tell her honestly, "far away from here as possible. I'll back track if we have to, I'm not taking any chances in case they managed to pick anything up from that call."

"Do you think they did?" she twists her hair and pulls on my Knicks cap again. "I mean, you didn't exactly tell Bill anything auspicious.." her voice trails off; "unless you think they might be able to get around our encryption and triangulate the phone signal.." her eyes fall to the broken phone on the threadbare carpet as I stuff our things into our bags quickly.

"That's kind of what I'm thinking," I admit ruefully, "but more along the lines of now they know that Fletcher didn't kill you in that room and you still know stuff about _them_. You're still a target."

"Oh," she swallows and her face is ashen. A ray of emotions flickers over her face in that one millisecond.

We hurry down the corridor to the parking lot, by-passing the guy on reception who looks a little confused at our sudden departure, which makes sense since we only checked in a couple of hours ago. Or maybe he just thinks we're a seedy couple having an affair and meeting in this deadbeat hotel to cheat on our spouses. Yeah. That's probably what he's thinking. Like I'd choose_ this_ fleapit for romantic ambiance. He's clearly over-estimating his place of work if he thinks that in any way it could turn anyone on.

"Changed our minds," I announce with an apologetic smile, handing him the keys as he smiles knowingly and looks at the two of us, "now that storms not so bad, I guess we'll head on home after all."

We race to the car. The rain is bad, but nowhere near to the extent it was earlier, thank god.

"Mike?" she says quietly as she buckles up. "Did they find Harper and the rest of the terrorist cell yet?"

I shake my head regretfully, "they haven't got Harper but Jack managed to trace some of his cell and I guess they recovered some kind of information that Morris is working on. That was as much as I managed to get out of Bill, we need to get a new phone before tomorrow night and decrypt it so we can contact CTU again," I turn over the idea in my head, trying to remember how the hell to do that. It's been a while.

She turns away and looks out of the window as I start up the engine. She doesn't say anything at all and my gut twists. I can't imagine how she must be feeling right now. She must feel so afraid.

We pull out of the lot and head into the darkness that is becoming all too familiar for us.

"Mike?" she says again, about ten minutes later.

"Yeah?"

Her smile is a little sad. "Thank you for being here. I mean, I don't remember if I said it already or not, but thanks for keeping me safe."

To my chagrin, I feel a little lump welling up in my throat. Jesus H Christ, _enough_ with this sentimental garbage already! "Don't worry about it Nadia," I respond, perhaps a little too roughly; "I'm just doing my job."

The car lapses into silence, as I focus on the drive ahead.

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	13. Chapter 13

**Cross Country**

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_**Nadia…**_

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Ok, so we're driving again and this time I don't even think Doyle knows where we're going anymore. He's switched our intended destinations, which makes sense. He figures that doubling back on ourselves slightly is the solution if we are being tracked after that phone-call was intercepted. Only trouble is, I secretly think we're lost.

Oh, and did I mention that Mike Doyle really is like _totally_ the most unfeeling person ever? I just thanked him for saving my life and he looked at me blankly and said he was just doing his job.

Whatever. It's not like he has to like me or anything, just to tolerate me would be enough, but sometimes he can't even look me in the eye.

"Are we lost?" I ask as we drive down a bleak country road.

"_No_."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_," he snaps.

I sigh miserably and go back to looking out of the window at the black nothingness. It's better than trying to engage in any kind of small talk which is so obviously beneath him.

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_**Doyle…**_

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So I feel like the biggest jerk on the planet right about now. She just thanked me for looking out for her and I totally made this whole thing sound unimportant, irrelevant. Like I don't give a crap.

Shit, that's not what I meant at all. I just don't want her to thank me for anything, she doesn't need to. Especially when I don't even know for definite whether or not we're even safe yet. Don't count your chickens and all that.

Then, to top it all off, she asked me if we were lost and I go and snap at her. Even though I don't have a fucking clue where we are either.

Now she's not even speaking to me.

It's just… why the hell does she have to be so pretty?

We sit in silence for another half an hour.

"I'm sorry," I venture hesitantly as I pull out onto a deserted freeway. I'm near as damn-it going cross-eyed from these windscreen wipers.

"For what?" she asks, facing me and looking a little perturbed. I guess I don't apologise too often, a fact she's probably more than aware of by now.

"For snapping at you. For making it sound like I don't give a shit about you either way. I just--- I don't want you to think I don't care about you, because I _do_.." I breathe out, uncomfortable that I might have given away too much; "it's just- let's just make sure you're definitely safe before thanking me for anything, ok?"

A tiny little smile crosses those luscious lips of hers. "Ok."

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**Nadia…**

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Holy crap. Maybe he's not such an unfeeling bastard after all.

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	14. Chapter 14

Freaking out

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**Chloe…**

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Ok, so I'm freaking out a bit over this whole 'Nadia on the run' situation, even more so now I know that weirdo Harper managed to hack into our systems and began to track their phone-call. Luckily Doyle ended it before they got a trace on them and I managed to encrypt the signal, but the whole thing was kind of nerve-wracking for a while. It pissed me off because I was so sure I'd made it safe for them to ring here. I know Doyle's smart so he'll have lost the phone and probably picked up another one as a means of contacting here when he has to, but this whole thing is kind of scary.

Not that I'm going to let anyone at CTU know this whole thing bothers me, but I'm feeling a little afraid for Nadia, even though she's always so damn strong all the time.

As far as I'm concerned, the most reassuring thing about the whole scenario is that she's not on her own out there, because god knows her navigation skills are lousy. She's the only person I know who gets lost driving to the supermarket. No, she has Mike 'Iceman' Doyle with her, so I guess she'll be ok.

Aside from Jack (and I have to admit that I'm a teensy bit biased in favour of him), Doyle is the best Field Agent I've ever met, and I'm relatively sure he'll keep her safe. Unless they kill each other first.

They don't seem to get on too well. Guess it must be all that sexual tension getting in the way.

He'd been in the building for approximately ten minutes the other day and he'd already saved her life, and she just looked at him with that expression on her face that suggested she wanted more than anything to get him in the sack: _'thanks for saving me?''_

Pur-lease! Go on and do it already! I know they both want to.

Despite the fact that she'd been all beaten up and had a busted lip, he was gazing at her like she was some piece of fragile china with this devastated expression on his face at what she'd been through.

They'd make a cute couple, better than her and Milo would have anyway, not to speak ill of the dead. Milo was too… 'pretty,' in a Backstreet Boys kind of way. Their kids would have probably been picked on at school for being too attractive. Doyle's more… rugged. Manly. The strong and _deathly_ silent type. If you like that type of thing, which I'm guessing Nadia does.

I'm decrypting Fletcher's files whilst Morris works on Harper's and de-fragments that computer chip that Jack found in the warehouse. I didn't know Fletcher _was_ actually so good at all this technical stuff, it's kind of surprising. I guess he totally played me and Morris for fools because the whole time he was here we thought he was computer illiterate.

Sheesh.

I run a hand over my eyes, tiredly, concentrating back on the monitor. I've been working on his system for the past three days, ever since he left and I'm no closer to finding anything new out.

I frustratedly click on a generic file labelled as 'Tranche 1A' and some kind of schematic comes up for a building duct. Nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

Shit. I breathe out closing the file, and Morris stands over my shoulder as I get to work on the next file, and a whole bunch of random codes appears on my screen. "You ok, darling?" he asks tiredly, "have you eaten anything tonight?"

"I had some cheeto's earlier," I venture a little sheepishly. "Oh, and a Mr Goodbar."

"Chloe, you need to eat, especially _now_." He looks pointedly at my stomach bulge like I might be on the verge of collapse. Er, no. I'm the size of an ocean liner and I still have a little while to go before baby makes an appearance. "I'll go and get you a sandwich, ok? I'm waiting for some of those files to decode themselves so I have a little while."

"Thanks Morris."

As he heads off I survey the room. It's pretty quiet- skeleton staff as a matter of fact, which means I can look at my screen without too much concern of what anyone else knows I'm doing.

Only a handful of trusted staff knows that Nadia's on the run, and Field Ops is now under the command of Jack Bauer. He followed a tip-off to a warehouse two days ago and managed to get a couple of Harper's men, but in the process, several agents were killed and I know he's kind of pissed about it and blaming himself, the way he usually does.

He interrogated Fletcher, and the little weasel finally broke. Admitted that Harper hired him as a computer hacker and engineered it for him through Division to come to CTU purely to leak information to his terrorist cell.

The guy is completely crazy.

Jack was working on the other guys from that warehouse for hours, but none of them will divulge Harper's whereabouts, even with broken fingers, battered faces and in one case, a broken jaw. He went in to speak to Buchanan right after Doyle's aborted call, and I guess they're still in there.

Which means something's happening.

I'm used to Jack's heavy-handed interrogation techniques, and I know the urgency of the situation. We managed to uncover the subway bombings, but there's still people out there with the capability and means to hurt people and what if they're planning much worse?

Hundreds, if not thousands of people's lives could be at risk.

There has to be something on his system. Something…

Ten minutes later I am staring at the same screen frustratedly, head in my hands and searching for answers that just aren't there, when Morris comes back, looks at his own system, shakes his head tiredly and then walks over to me.

He drops a ham sandwich on the desk. "You ok, darling?"

"Not really," I say angrily, pushing a stack of papers out of the way. "We have to find something!"

"These people have covered their tracks pretty well," Morris admits, rubbing my shoulder soothingly, "Harper's system was completely wiped and what _wasn't _deleted, was encrypted in a way I've never even seen before. It's taking me forever to de-code it and then when I do it's junk anyway. The guy's playing with us. The computer chip seems to have some kind of binary code in it but I can't get around it properly so that's stalling me." He studies me, "you worried about Nadia?"

I nod as I unwrap my sandwich, it's pretty hard to hide things from Morris. He knows me better than anyone.

"She'll be ok," he says simply, stroking my hair, "Mike Doyle will keep her safe- you know that, and I think something's going on upstairs."

"What? With Jack and Bill?" I question.

"They've been up there for hours," he says with a shrug, "don't tell me you didn't notice."

I shrug, "they'll tell us soon enough I guess."

As if on cue, Bill suddenly sticks his head out of his office door. "Morris! Chloe!" he barks, "come up here, now!"

I exchange a glance with my ex-husband-now-fiancée and regretfully abandon my lunch as we head up the metal staircase; "I guess now we're going to find out."

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_**Bill…**_

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I exchange glances with Jack as Chloe and Morris sit at the table, looking terse and like they suspect something is up. Figures, they _are _pretty perceptive. "We have a plan," I state simply. "Nothing is working, we can't find Harper, we know he wants Nadia so we're going to give him what he wants."

"What?" Chloe and Morris gasp at the same time.

"We're going to purposely put a plant in the system that lets Harper find out their location," I continue, a little perturbed by the angry look Chloe is shooting at me (pissed off Chloe is not good) "and hopefully it will lead us to more of his men and maybe even him."

"You _can't_!" Morris says bluntly, "that's going to endanger Nadia and Mike."

"We don't have any other choices," Jack interjects, his face tense and frustrated, "nothing else is working. Hell, I even broke one of these guys' _jaws_ and they're still not talking…"

I sigh, "believe me, if I thought there was any other way we'd use it, but Wayne Palmer agrees that to try and track these guys, we have to go to extreme measures. The press have got wind that something's happened in conjunction with the transport system and that CTU has people in custody relating to the attempted subway bombing, its only a matter of time before they start putting things together. Once Harper's group is connected to this he'll go completely dark and we have no hope in hell of finding him…"

Chloe looks at me and then Jack, "how are you going to find Nadia and Doyle? They probably have a new encrypted phone by now and it'll be hard to trace it because you just _know_ that Doyle did some kind of CIA gizmo thing to it that I can't get around really quickly. They only stay on the line two minutes when they call here and they're probably going to be even more cautious now."

"That's where you come in," Jack says simply. "I need you to stall them, keep them on the line longer, decrypt the signal fully and re-route it back through the system. Do not let them hang up until we've tracked it. Maybe we can even pick some kind of background noise up in their call. Anything. We're getting kind of desperate here. Chloe, how long will it take to trace their approximate location if we open the system up all the way?"

"Um, I honestly don't know," Chloe says, thinking hard, "but Mike's pretty rigid about sticking to the timings and it might take a little longer to pinpoint their exact location."

"Then we need to get around that," Jack says impatiently.

"Jack, if we totally open the system, then Harper will be able to put a trace on them as soon as _we_ can," Morris says, looking worried.

"That's what I'm banking on," Jack replies, running a hand over the back of his neck grimly. "Only Chloe's a lot smarter than their guys are. We'll have a head start. Plus better technology."

"How are you going to get there before _they_ do?" Chloe asks, worried. "They could be anywhere in the country."

"A helicopter," I say firmly, "Chloe, get me a chopper on standby for when Mike calls in. Jack needs to be in the air as soon as he can when we finally get a trace on them," I look down at my watch, "that gives us less than two hours to put this thing in motion."

Chloe nods obediently.

"Morris, any luck on de-fragmenting that chip?" I question.

"I pulled off some files from it," he replies, "I'm just trying to hack into them but they're password protected and probably scrambled too. A filter's coming down at the moment. I'm working on it. It should hopefully be unlocked in the next couple of hours."

I have every faith in them. "Get to work," I say simply.

And they do.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Tired of running**

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_**Nadia…**_

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We've been driving all day and I'm getting tired. The sun is just starting to set, casting a golden hue over the mountains I can see in the distance. We're still in Canada- I think.

The last time either of us spoke to each other was about four hours ago when we stopped at some rest-stop for something to drink. We've both been pretty quiet since then. Mike seems kind of absorbed in his own thoughts, which I have to concede is nothing new.

I wonder what he's thinking about. I'm just about to ask him (because that's the way I am) when I notice he's rubbing his temple like he has a headache or something. "Mike.. your nose is bleeding," I point out suddenly, seeing the vivid trickle of blood down the side of his face.

He sighs like it's a pretty common occurrence. "Great.."

He indicates the car and pulls over onto a lay-by, fumbling in his jacket for some kind of tissue or something.

"It looks pretty bad," I'm concerned as it continues to bleed, a little more profusely now; "are you ok?"

"I just get them sometimes," he mutters, pressing a tissue to his face. "My sinuses were damaged in the blast."

I didn't realise that. I wonder what other repercussions of that accident he has- I know he mentioned something about his reflexes to Bill. I know he had to have skin grafts due to the explosion, but otherwise his face looks fine, a couple of noticeable scars on his right side and his corneas look a little scratched, but other than that, nothing too prominent.

He examines his face in his wing mirror. He's bleeding pretty badly actually. I rummage around in my bag and find a packet of tissues which I hand to him.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"Want me to drive for a while?" I offer.

He actually looks grateful. "Would you mind? Only I have a bit of a headache.."

"You should have said something."

He looks defensive again as we get out of the car and he swaps sides. "I'm ok. It's just a nosebleed."

I pull out into the traffic and sigh. "Whatever."

His nose is still bleeding twenty minutes later and he's so preoccupied with it that he doesn't even bother to make any snide comments about my driving skills. "Maybe we should stop and rest for a while," I suggest. I'm a little worried at how pale he is, but I don't want to draw attention to that; "I mean, we have to call CTU in a while anyway, right?" Mike's even smarter than I thought he was, for some reason he knows all kinds of weird espionage stuff- like how to corrupt a brand new SIM card with tweezers, tinfoil and a magnet, so that the signal becomes all distorted. Kind of cool, in a James Bond way. I guess it's what Chloe did. Maybe they went to the same spy school. Even I didn't learn that much technical junk in the academy and if I_ did_, I can't remember it. My attention span can be kind of limited sometimes.

He nods at my suggestion, his voice muffled behind the tissue. "That sounds like a good idea."

We check into some motel just off the highway. Doyle spends the next half hour in the bathroom trying to clean up his face.

"You ok?" I ask, knocking on the door.

"I'm fine."

"Is it still bleeding?"

"Yes," sounds like he's speaking through gritted teeth for some reason.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"Maybe you should get it cauterised or something."

"I already did," he replies, over the sound of running water. "Right after I started getting them. Oh, dammnit!"

"What?"

"I bled all over my freakin' shirt.."

"Want me to get you a clean one?"

"Please.." his voice is a little surprised.

I rummage in his bag and pull out a black t-shirt which I hand to him as he opens the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I go back to sitting on the bed.

And waiting.

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Eventually his nose stops bleeding and I hear him rinsing his other shirt through in the sink. He comes back through to the bedroom and sits despondently on the bed. "You ok?"

"Stop asking me that. I'm fine."

"Sorry.."

He sighs. "_I'm_ sorry, it's just been a long day and I still have a headache, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"I have some Tylenol if you want some."

"Thanks.." he accepts a couple of the painkillers and swigs them back with a little water.

"What other side effects did the blast cause you?" I question, tracing the raindrops running down the windowpane with my index finger.

"Why?"

"I was just curious."

"You get curious a lot."

"Does that mean you don't want to answer my question?"

He shrugs looking bemused, "my balance can get a little off sometimes. My hearing was affected in the explosion.. my eyes still aren't totally up to scratch and my reflexes aren't so great any more. Sometimes I get dizzy spells.." he's pretty matter of fact about it all, but I feel guilt welling up in my stomach. It's all my fault he was caught up in that damn blast as it is.

"I'm sorry," I venture hesitantly.

He looks confused; "for what?"

I turn away from the window and look at him. "For sending you after that component."

He looks surprised. "You were doing your job."

"That doesn't mean I don't regret the way I handled it."

He looks like he's about to say something else and then his watch beeps. "Time to make the call."

He dials through to CTU and even though I know it's silly, I can't help but feel the hope rising in me that maybe this time they'll have caught Harper and that we can both go home. I'm so tired of running.

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_**Doyle**__**…**_

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Ok, that totally threw me. I'm completely flummoxed at what she just said. I had no idea she was feeling guilty about me getting caught in that blast. What does _she_ have to feel guilty about? She was just following protocol.

I use the new phone to dial CTU. This time it's Chloe who answers on the first ring.

"It's me. Is this line secure?"

"Yes," she says. "Are you alright?"

"We're fine. Anything new to report?"

Chloe sounds a little distracted as she answers me. "Jack's been working on more of the members of the cell- he uh, broke one of the guys jaws. Nothing."

The phone line suddenly crackles just as a clap of thunder sounds overhead. "Damn.." I mutter dismayed, "I'm losing the signal." I quickly check the cellular display on the front of the phone. Five bars. Ok. Weird. Must be this damn weather.

"You there Agent Doyle?"

"I'm here."

"Thought we lost you, must be the weather or something. Sounds like a pretty bad storm?"

"I guess."

Chloe quickly fills me in on the new developments on the case, which is actually nothing much, she's randomly asking me questions but I stay on for the allotted two minutes and then hang up.

"Anything?" Nadia asks hopefully.

"Well, Jack broke some guys jaw and they still aren't talking," I say quietly, hating the way that one sentence makes her face fall. "But they have a lot of people in custody and Chloe's pretty positive," I add quickly.

"Oh."

"You hungry?" I ask her, for the sake of something to say. There's a vending machine out in the hallway that looked pretty well stocked with candy bars at least- I'm thinkin' I could go for some milk duds right about now- and she didn't eat anything when we stopped for a snack earlier. I didn't either. My appetite's down the pan because all I can do is worry about the fact that _she's_ not eating. Kind of ironic.

"Not really."

"You don't eat much, do you?"

A ghost of a smile creeps over her face at my observation; "usually I eat like a pig, I just don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

"Isn't there _anything_ you want to eat?" I offer, "like.. chocolate or something?"

She smiles properly at this. God, she has a great smile. "Chocolate's the answer to everything, right?"

"Well," I root in my pocket for a couple of quarters; "it certainly can't hurt."

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_**Nadia…**_

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After consuming a couple of squares of Hershey's chocolate, I actually _do_ feel a little better. Doyle is in the shower and I curl up on the bed tiredly listening to the muted sound of running water.

I start suddenly at the sound of the door being rattled and muffled footsteps outside.

_What the..?_

Doyle's still in the shower. I glance fearfully at the door handle as it moves downward, and then it opens. Slowly.

Oh god, Doyle forgot to lock the door.

_And someone's coming in the room._

I skim the room desperately with my eyes, trying to see Doyle's gun, but I don't spot it anywhere.

_Oh god.._

My heart sinks as I see Geoff Harper standing in the threshold to our motel room doorway, gun pointing at me and a sinister sneer twisting his face as I cower on the bed, searching desperately for some kind of way out of this.

He found us.

_He's here._

"Mike…" my voice falters in terror.

"Nadia.." he says, in that smarmy, German porn-star accented voice I always found so creepy, "you're a hard woman to find.." he clicks the catch off his weapon with a steely glint in his eyes as I take a deep breath, my voice catching in my throat, as he squeezes the trigger.

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"NADIA!"

I jump violently, blinking awake in fear. I realise I'm sweating and the room is dark. Mike's kneeling by the side of my bed, looking sleep rumpled and concerned in the half darkness, his hand is soft on my arm.

I struggle to sit up, realising my cheeks are damp, like I've been crying or something. I'm trembling profusely and my fingers are tingling and my head's spinning, I'm so disorientated and out of it. It takes me a moment to realise that I'm safe, curled up in my motel bed, and that it's the middle of the goddamn night.

I must have fallen asleep.

I was dreaming. Thank god, it was just a dream.

_Just a dream. _

"Are you ok?" Mike's voice is compassionate, worried in a way I never heard from him before. He slowly reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp as I hug my knees tightly to my chest.

"I—" I can't seem to speak. Wow, that's a first.

"Bad dream?" he asks, his voice roughened by sleep but sympathetic.

I nod as he perches on the end of the bed. "Was I—I mean, did I scream or something?" embarrassment colours my cheeks; "I woke you.. I'm sorry."

"That's ok," he says carefully. "You were tossing and turning a little, I'm a pretty light sleeper, is all."

My eyes skim the room, every shadow I see makes me flinch, and like he realises it, he turns on the main switch and the room is suddenly flooded with bright light. No darkness anywhere.

"Better?" he asks gently.

I nod, biting my lip.

"You're shaking," he observes, but I can't decipher the timbre of his voice, "that must have been some dream."

"Nightmare," I whisper without thinking.

His eyes soften. "Want to talk about it?"

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_**Doyle…**_

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"Want to talk about it?" I ask her. I don't want to intrude on her personal space, but Christ it scared the _bejesus_ out of me when I heard her tossing and turning like that. She was sobbing a little in her sleep and she sounded so damn afraid it made my gut twist.

She still looks scared _now_, she's shaking like a leaf. I go and fetch her a glass of water from the bathroom, and when she's drank it a little more colour comes back into her cheeks as she pushes her mussed hair out of her face.

"Was it about Harper?" I probe gently.

She nods, her hands playing listlessly with the comforter. "He—he found me," her eyes dart to the motel room door like she's remembering something; "you—you were in the shower and the door wasn't locked."

I flinch at how vulnerable she sounds; seems like even in _dreams_ I can be a jerk to her. Leaving her alone.. "I wouldn't forget to lock the door," I assure her.

"It was so real," she tells me, her eyes meeting mine, "I couldn't find your gun and he was going to shoot me.. that's when I woke up."

A little lump comes to my throat at how distressed she looks. Crap, that feeling's back again, the one where all I want to do is hug her.

_Not now Mike!_

"You're safe now," is all I can think to say. Honestly, I can be so freakin' lame sometimes.

"I know," she practically whispers, her eyes meeting mine again. "I know."

Neither of us feel like sleeping at that point, and I can tell that Nadia really doesn't want the lights switching off again that night. Instead, we sit and wait until dawn breaks, and then we pull out of the motel.

On the road again.

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**I kind of like the idea of bringing compassionate Doyle to the surface every now and then. Don't know if it worked or not, but I liked this chapter anyway!**** Hope you all have a Merry Christmas, and a great New Year if I don't get a chance to update before then :0)**


	16. Chapter 16

**What Morris found…**

**AN: **Wanted to post this earlier but didn't get the chance. Hopefully the two long chapters will make up for its delay! Morris/Chloe in this one and some definite Nadia/Doyle interaction in the next. Enjoy!

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_**Morris…**_

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Whilst Chloe is doing her whole trying-to-track down-Nadia-and-Doyle thing and wondering how she's going to plant a leak in the CTU firewall to give Harper and his men access to our system, I've been staring rather aimlessly at the mass of files on _my _system that I've pulled off the component from the warehouse explosion. A myriad of files and folders has, at long last, been transferred to my screen from the damaged chip, but unfortunately, rather like Harper and Fletcher's systems, these are encrypted too. Binary codes and numbers- lots and lots of numbers- all three digits repeated over and over.

"Shit," I murmur, despondently.

See, Chloe and I were kind of hoping that we could maybe pull something off the chip that would buy Nadia and Doyle a little time before Jack swoops in and does his whole angry shooter thing, only the deadline's getting closer and in the next couple of hours, Chloe is going to have an _exact _location of where Doyle's last cell phone call was made from. Once the signal is triangulated, everything's going to be put in motion.

I gaze bleakly at the scrolling numbers- over and over until I'm pretty sure I'm going cross-eyed. I want to go to sleep. In fact, my eyes are just starting to close when all of a sudden I jerk awake, something clicking in my mind.

"Crap!" I exclaim, switching systems screens frantically and pulling up Fletcher's desktop; "Morris you bloody chump…"

Epiphany, eureka, _whatever_ the hell you want to call it- I suddenly realise that the file names on Harper's system have the same numbers as the files pulled up on the damaged component, only in a different order.

"Anagrams," I mutter in disbelief, "the information's the same on both things, only its password protected by bloody anagrams!"

"You're slipping O'Brien," I tell myself. Blame it on the tiredness or whatever, but I can't believe I didn't pick up on it earlier. I quickly click on one of the files on Fletcher's system and type the corresponding three-digits into the password box. Nothing. So I try it again only this time I reverse it.

The document blares to life on my screen in glorious technicolor and I smile triumphantly, hardly able to believe that I, Morris O'Brien, who has years of expertise at both CTU and MI6, has almost been defeated by scrambled numbers. If Chloe finds out, she'll never let me live it down.

A shipping manifesto? I eye it in disbelief. Lame. We all _know_ the computer stuff that got destroyed was in a shipping container. _How disappointing_. I was at least hoping for something good here. Why decrypt files that are basically useless? Nevertheless, I skim over it intently, studying yet more three digit numbers. Kind of like a mini sudoku puzzle, things start sinking in a little more as I type numbers at my keyboard.

More anagrams and… Houston, we are good to go. I grin. "Yes!"

Just as quickly my smug smile fades when I see what's on my screen _now_. CTU debriefing documents? No. What the hell? _Another_ dead end.

I'm just about to close the file and throw the machine out of the window in disgust when my eyes rest on the date of the document. 2002. An old debriefing document by all accounts, I mean, this thing would have been archived _way_ back- CTU are pretty sharp on clearing the servers and filing junk away. Why the hell would Fletcher have any kind of interest in this?

I look, _really look-_ at what's right in front of me and my brain's clicking and doing all kinds of mad leaps. One by one, I methodically key in the digits, which takes a while with the various combinations for the other folders, and documents are opening all over the shop. _More_ old CTU cases. My eyes take in names, dates, places with curious fascination. What the hell is going on? What kind of red herring have I reeled in here?

My eyes widen when a photo suddenly pops up onto my screen and I study the jumble of letters that pulls up alongside it. I'm sure it's coherent, probably even in English for crying out loud, but all I can see are _squiggles_ at this point in time. The only thing I can focus on right now is the photograph and I'm realising that suddenly things are starting to make sense as I pull up more and more files. More shipping logs, numerical data... I quickly cross reference, jumping between the data from the component, Harper's system and Fletcher's, now that I ultimately know what I'm looking for. For the first time in days I'm putting two and two together and I'm finally making four. One thing's for sure: I need to get this Intel to Buchanan right away.

Holy crap. Jack's not going to be impressed.

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_**Chloe…**_

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"I've narrowed down their location," I say with a hesitant sigh as Jack peers over my shoulder at the computer monitor. "I should have an exact location in the next couple of minutes."

"Great," he says, looking pleased, "well done, Chloe."

"Uh, Jack, you're going to make sure Nadia's ok, aren't you?" I ask, not unkindly but well, in the usual way I ask a stupid question I guess.

He looks a little offended. "What do you mean?"

"Because sometimes when you get all—'missiony' well, you kind of focus more on the suspects than the people around you," I don't mean it in a bad way and he realises that, "and Nadia's not as good in the field as you and Agent Doyle. Just, look out for her, ok? Oh… I got the coordinates now..." my brow furrows in concentration.

He grins, "Chloe. Nadia will be fine, I promise you. Where the hell are they?"

"Canada."

"Canada? Well, that's further away than I expected," Bill says, coming up behind my station. "Whereabouts?"

"When they called last night they were in Fort Nelson but now they're near Fort St John. Maybe they're trying to get toward Calgary or something. I managed to triangulate the signal on their phone. It _was _pretty well decrypted- Doyle knows his stuff, but I got around that."

"How?" asks Bill, looking impressed.

"The storm," I say with a shrug, "with the lightening and the thunder I heard in the background, I compared the meteorological data to what was sounding at the time of the call and managed to pinpoint their approximate whereabouts. I bounced the signal off the cells network masts and managed to put a tracker onto their handset. Unless they lose the phone, we're following their movements as I speak. They're driving down some kind of highway"

"Chloe's a weather channel boffin," Morris says as he comes up behind us looking a little flustered; "and she likes documentaries on storm chasers."

"How _you_ going on with the recovery of the warehouse data and de-fragmenting that chip?" I ask him, changing the subject. Not _everyone_ needs to know my viewing habits; they already think I'm a dork.

"Pulled off part of a code," he announces a little triumphantly as Bill and Jack listen with interest, clearly impressed with his brilliance. "I was just about to tell you..."

"Share with the group," I say, concentrating on my laptop and the little red dot moving that indicates Doyle is driving _and_ is sticking to the speed limit. Good boy. "Gold star if it's good news..."

"Um.." he looks a bit crestfallen, "I wouldn't exactly say it's _good_ news," he ventures.

"Morris?" I inject just the right tone of warning into my voice. "_What_ did you find on that chip?"

"I pulled off a mountain of stuff that kind of threw me a little," he admits as his eyes narrow, "um, Jack, maybe you should sit down."

I tense, Bill looks perplexed and Jack's brow immediately furrows. "What is it?" he questions, looking at Morris worriedly.

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_**Morris…**_

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Shit, I _really_ don't want to be the one who makes Jack's face do that whole angry/glare thing and now that Chloe found Nadia and Doyle, we don't exactly have time to go into depth on what I pulled off that component. I know Jack's anger is not _purposely_ directed at me, but the second I begin to explain what I found on that chip, he goes all mean and moody. Bugger it.

"Well, um..."

"Morris!" Chloe says, exasperated, sensing my hesitation.

"Ok, ok. _Jeez_. Where do I start? Well I _finally_ managed to de-fragment part of the damaged chip and it brought up a ton of random shipping data of a liner that set off from Germany two weeks ago," I explain, "I cross referenced the log and matched the date of transportation and the log brought up numbers corresponding with those containers blown up in the warehouse, those that contained all the technological crap that went boom. Which we knew anyways, so I kind of figured it to be a dead end. _Anyhoo_," I sigh, "to cut a long story short, I realised that some of those numbers matched decrypted files in both Fletcher and Harper's system. Smart and logical way of remembering complex information. The storage container numbers were actually _anagrams_ of the file numbers and I managed to hack into them on that hunch… It took forever with all the potential combinations, but we're in."

"And?" Chloe prompts, crossing her arms. She looks so cute when she gets all irritated.

"_And_ I pulled off some fairly generic looking files," I say with another sigh, "at first it just _looked_ like random documentation, but then I realised when I started reading it properly that it was old CTU case documents- debriefs, whatever. For some reason, Fletcher and Harper had a very personal interest in some of them. God knows _how _Harper and Fletcher managed to get a hold of them, but they did- I guess that's a perk of working for division, right?" my little joke falls flat and I clear my throat. "Ahem. Anyway, I was a little disconcerted when I realised that these files were old, like,_ really _old and related to cases from way before most of us even started here. Apart from Jack that is."

"_Which_ cases?" Jack asks, his jaw clenching.

"The Drazdens, Michael Amador and Mamud Faheen," I say quietly.

"That was years ago," he says, stunned, "all those sons of bitches were taken care of. I saw to most of it personally. What the hell is their interest in _those_ guys?"

"Um, it's not the interest in _them_," I say with a sigh, "it's more the link."

"What link?" Bill asks.

Jack is thinking ahead and now his fists are clenched too and I feel bad for evoking so many bad memories for him. I almost see the little light bulb shining above his head as his eyes widen. Ding! "_Nina Myers_."

"_That_ link. Um, Jack, I did a background check on Nadia's files that she has on them. Geoff Harper was born and raised in Frankfurt, Germany, where his CTU career actually started, and his half-sister's name is Yelena. Ring any bells?"

Chloe and Bill are looking kind of stunned at these new developments but Jack is furious as this whole thing starts making sense to him. "That was Nina Myers _alias_. Or one of them. Geoffrey Harper is related to Nina Myers?"

"Uh huh. And according to the bank statements and files I managed to retrieve once I started really decrypting all the information, it appears that he also had contact with the deceased Christopher Henderson too. It seems that Nina wasn't the only black sheep of that family and Harper was also helping them out with their insane terrorist schemes, albeit in a less predominant role. When Nina erm," I shoot a little look over at Jack, "when Nina was um, _killed_, all her assets reverted to her little half-brother along with her business contacts. Seems Harper's a very rich man and he's on some kind of personal vendetta now to aid every terrorist in the hemisphere. Guess its payback because his psycho sister died."

"DAMNIT!" Jack is about thirty kinds of angry now and slams his fist against the wall, realising what we're up against. "How did we miss this? Shit! That terrorist I did some damage on dropped enough hints: '_How does it feel to be betrayed by one of your own?_' and he said '_from what I'm aware of, this isn't the first time CTU has had a mole._' Fuck! He was playing with us! I can't believe I didn't get this."

"Harper covered his tracks pretty well," Chloe says, running through documents I've pulled up on her laptop to demonstrate my findings, "the connection really isn't obvious."

"The only reason _I_ found it was the matching numbers," I admit, "if they hadn't have corresponded then we'd still be in the sh—" I shoot an apologetic look over at Chloe who has a real thing about swearing in front of our unborn child, "doo doo," I finish lamely.

"No _wonder _he's such a damn snake," Bill spits, "it's obviously genetic. _Finally_ we have a motive. He's working with terrorists in order to finish what his sister started."

"I'm going to _kill_ that son of a bitch," Jack hisses, grabbing his gun and checking the clip like he's about to go on some kind of murderous rampage.

I wouldn't put it past him.

"Good work Morris," Bill says, "see whatever else you can find on the Myers/Harper family tree and that damn shipping log and where the hell in Germany that ship was loaded and any large manufacturing and chemical companies in that area… and Chloe when you've planted that bug in the system that sets off the breach, start cross-referencing all cases Nina Myers worked on that might have slipped through the loop and check them against Nadia's files. There might be a pattern. We still need to find out who Harper is working with. Jack.." he turns comfortingly to him, "You ok?"

"I'm _fine_," Jack barks, "I need to go and get prepped to leave. As soon as we know Harper has accessed the CTU system I need to get the hell out of here and get to Nadia and Doyle now that we know where they are. She's next on their list. They already think she knows too much."

Chloe's eyes widen, "I think she does," she jabs at something on her screen, "maybe _inadvertently_, but Nadia pulled off a cross-check on Harper and she found the link to Frankfurt CTU. Harper worked there at the same time Nina Myers did. Keeping it in the family and maybe building up their terrorist address book. She probably pulled some strings and got him the interview. Nadia's documents show that there were links between Fletcher and Harper, even back then and they worked on several undercover operations together. Not suspicious, but it proves they worked at the same unit when _Nina_ did."

"Nadia's definitely a target then," Bill says grimly, "after all the stuff she pulled on the unorthodox accessing of the system; they'll try to kill her just to prove a point. This is dynamite Intel- when it's all linked together it'll nail them in the Supreme Court and they know it."

"So Nadia had a ton of stuff on them but it just needed de-coding?" Jack asks. "They probably don't know that she doesn't have the _full_ knowledge of their operations- they assume she has everything on them. No wonder Fletcher tried to kill her in that holding room."

"Exactly," Bill concedes, "I'll tell Karen to update the president on these new developments and get in touch with CTU Frankfurt for a list of known German terrorist suspects who Harper _may_ have had contact with. Now that we know which damn country that ship came from, it's a case of narrowing down the fields."

I watch the sudden flurry of activity a little apprehensively.

No gold star for me then.

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	17. Chapter 17

**Pointless Questions**

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_**Doyle…**_

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"What's your favourite sport?"

"_What_?" I look over at her. We're driving down some random country road in the back of beyond and I haven't seen any sign of civilisation for at least two hours. I hope we don't run low on gas anytime soon, because we will be seriously screwed. I _should _have refuelled after breakfast, but after last night I'm pretty tired and I don't think either of our brains were engaging properly. To be honest we probably should have just stayed at that hotel in Fort Nelson. It wasn't too trashy.

"I was just wondering what your favourite sport was," she says simply, like it's not the most random thing she's ever asked me, "I mean, you like the Bronco's, right? What other sports are you in to?"

I'm thrown by her question. "Um, basketball."

"What team?"

I start a little. What _is _this? Why is she asking me stuff?

"The Nuggets."

"Is that Denver's team too?"

I look at her a little strangely. "Yes."

"Oh. Have you always lived in Denver?"

"No."

"Where else have you lived?"

"Texas and San Clemente."

"Is Texas where you went to college?"

"Yes."

She falls silent and I mentally give myself a shake. What the hell's with all these _questions_ all of a sudden? I'm just growing used to the silence again, when she starts up once more.

"What did you study in college?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I was just curious."

"Oh."

"You didn't answer my question."

"That's because I don't want to answer dumb pointless questions."

"What would be a 'smart' thing to ask you?"

I breathe out, frustrated and try to concentrate on the road. "Why the hell are you asking me so many goddamn questions all of a sudden?"

"Because I know next to nothing about you," she says simply. "Other than you don't like being told what to do, you have an older brother called Ben and you have a tendency to be a bit um, abrupt with people."

"Is this a compulsory thing with you?" I ask, somewhat moodily, a little fazed by her more-than astute statement, "do you have to know _everything _about people you come into contact with? Damn right I can be abrupt, because I don't like pointless conversation. You want to put together a little dossier on me too? Catalogue it for future reference? Stick that in paragraph one."

She blinks, looking hurt, and I mentally slap myself. Ok, that was unfair. _Completely_ uncalled for. None of this is her fault- she was just doing her job and being a good agent and her life's at risk because of it. The last thing she needs is me ganging up on her when all she's doing is asking me perfectly reasonable- if a little weird- questions. Why do I always have to be such a defensive jerk? Why am I blaming her for this whole thing? I just want to go back to LA.

"Sorry," I mutter. God, each conversation with us either entails insults or apologies. Why can't I just be nice? I know the way she's feeling, especially after her nightmare last night, yet I still persist in being a bastard to her. If Ben was here, he'd kick my ass for sure, and I'd deserve it.

She recovers; "apology accepted. Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation. I forget that other people aren't always the same way and I'm sorry you seem to think this whole thing is my fault."

I'd rather she didn't make conversation and I don't bother denying what I think of this whole situation. I don't _really_ blame her, I just wish to god that we weren't in some shitty car driving in the remote Canadian wilderness.

Y'see, it was bad enough that she seemed to get me so well on that first day we met, if I keep putting up these barriers around myself enough then I figure she won't be able to do it anymore. I don't want Nadia being able to read me or know stuff about me, because that's when people start getting vulnerable.

She's looking back down at the map and then out the window. "I think the marker for the minor road was back there," she says, squinting through the mist as we drive by some kind of route sign.

"There's another turn-off further up here. We'll take that one instead."

"But—"

"It's fine," I say, my eyes on the road.

"Whatever," she slams the map shut and tosses it onto the dashboard. "It's not like you're listening to anything I say anyway. How about I let you do all the navigating in future? Pretend I'm not here. I'm sure it won't be too much of a challenge for you."

"I just think this way is better," I tell her, trying to stay calm, but she's really riled me up with her inane questions and for some reason I'm now on edge and I feel another headache looming. _Why_ does she want to know stuff about me? I'm really not that interesting. And yeah, fair enough _she knows next to nothing about me_, but so what? It's not like it's a pre-requisite for being her minder or anything. Maybe I'm psychoanalysing this whole thing too much.

She shrugs at my response and then fiddles with the dial for the radio. Some crappy country tune is playing and it is getting on my nerves, but as she adjusts the knob, it's instant static. Probably due to this damn weather.

"Please could you not do that right now? It's kind of distracting," I say, in a voice that's snappier than I intended.

"Fine," she huffs, turning it off entirely as the silence surrounds us. "That better, your majesty?"

"Don't be a martyr," I say, wiping at the foggy windscreen with my left hand.

"Then don't be an asshole," she says in a syrupy sweet voice.

I look triumphantly at her as the next road marker comes up and pull onto a quieter road. I _knew_ I was right.

"Why do you always have to be right all the time?" she says, turning to face me and pulling a face at my smug look. "Is must be a guy thing."

"Why do _you_ always have to ask so many questions all the time- Don't you ever get lock jaw? Or is your mouth _used_ to moving so much?" I snap, turning the heater up. Goddamn it this car is freakin' steamed up. Maybe it's from all her talking.

"What happened to the _nice_ guy that briefly surfaced last night?" she counters, "Why do _you_ always have to be such an _icy bastard_- don't you ever get fed up of acting like a frigging machine without any goddamn feelings?" she folds her arms and goes back to looking out of the window like she can sense- she _finally_ gets it- that I'm really not in the mood for twenty questions or any kind of conversation.

I tense suddenly, my hands gripping the steering wheel so fiercely that I can see my knuckles turning white. _What_ did she just call me?

_Icy bastard.. _

_A machine?_

That does it. I really can't take any more of this. Her incessant arguing and her need so obviously to get me to talk. I don't want to talk. I happen to like awkward silences.

With a frown on my face that I'm pretty sure belies my 'feelings' at the situation, I swerve the car into a lay-by and roughly slam on the brakes.

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_**Nadia…**_

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He pulls into a lay-by, slams on the brakes, irritation evident on his face. Guess I rattled his cage with all my 'pointless' questions. Well-- good.

I jolt forward in my seat at the sudden movement as the car jerks forward. "Hey!"

"I need some fucking air," he snaps, switching of the engine and roughly yanking the keys from the ignition.

"It's pouring out," I point out, rather unnecessarily. As if to purport my statement, a particularly heavy volley of raindrops lands on the windscreen.

"I don't care."

He yanks on his jacket and throws open the car door.

He slams the door after him and stalks down the grassy verge and through the car window I can see that he's muttering to himself and he sure doesn't look happy.

Great. Fantastic.

Ok, so he's pissed off.

I didn't mean to make him so mad.

I just wanted him to talk to me. Like _really_ talk, kind of the way we did last night when he was so nice to me. When he seemed to be caring and compassionate and not remote and distant like he's been all morning. Most of the time it's like he's deliberately toughened himself against the notion that, god forbid, he might show that he's actually able of generating sympathy or kindness or being nice to _anyone_. I wanted to have a conversation, however tedious or meaningless that didn't just consist of his one word answers or him barking orders at me like he's been doing since this whole mess started. I guess winding him up wasn't _really_ the best way to get any reaction out of him, but sometimes my mouth has the tendency to run away with me.

I put my head in my hands. _Great job Nadia. Really terrific._

After a couple of moments, I pull on my own jacket and then scurry after him. The grass is slippery; the rain's lashing against my face, soaking my hair. He's stalking ahead.

"Mike!" the wind carries away my words. Or maybe he's just ignoring me… it _could_ be his hearing. Nah, he's definitely ignoring me.

"Mike! I'm sorry…"

He turns to face me now and his eyes are glittering dangerously. "You think I'm _icy_? I act like a _machine_?" he practically spits at me. He looks angry, furious even, but to my surprise I can also detect an underlying hurt in his eyes.

I didn't just piss him off- I upset him.

He looks like I just kicked his dog.

Maybe he has feelings after all.

I swallow at the intense look in his eyes. _Uh-oh._ "Um…"

"Answer the question!" he practically yells, "I want to know what you think of me!"

"Why?!" I almost scream back, thrown by this sudden interrogation, "it's not like it even matters to you either way!"

The next second he's whirled round right in front of me, his eyes dark and unreadable. His clothes are sticking to him and beads of water are falling in his eyes from the storm. He grabs hold of my shoulders and the next thing I know his hot mouth is on mine.

_Holy shit…_

He's kissing me, he's actually _kissing_ me, and I realise I never _ever_ want him to stop.

His mouth is warm, soft yet urgent. The kiss turns brutal- my lips hurt from his onslaught but I don't care because it feels so damn good. His hands tangle in my wet hair, pulling me closer to him and I willingly kiss him back, cold noses touching as the rain lashes down on us.

It's the most amazing kiss I ever had in my whole life.

I'm kissing Mike Doyle. Who'd have thought it?

Just as quickly he pulls away from me, breathing hard, his wet hair is plastered to his head and his face is pale. He lets go of me so abruptly I nearly fall over and that stony look is back on his face again.

_What the…?_

"I shouldn't have done that," he mutters, half to himself, and again I can't read the look in his eyes at all; "shit Nadia, I'm sorry."

I just gape at him, too stunned to speak, as he rams his hands in his pockets and stiffly heads back to the car.

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_**Doyle…**_

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I fucking kissed her. After everything I ever promised myself, I kissed her.

After only four days with her.

_Wow, talk about self-control. You sure excelled yourself this time Mike._

I sit in the driver's seat silently, turning on the engine as she slowly slides into the passenger seat, white-faced and not even looking at me. She wraps her arms around herself, shivering in her wet things, biting her lip and unable to meet my eyes.

Christ, if I thought it was cold between us before, now it's damn near Antarctic. Come to mention it, she _does_ have this expression in her eyes kind of like she's just seen me club a baby seal.

But, she doesn't say _anything_ and I have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that's preventing me from speaking.

So I do what I usually do: completely ignore the issue. I put the car in drive, floor the gas pedal and just go. I'm going to find the nearest motel and have a cold shower. And I don't mean one in the rain. _Nope. Flashbacks. Stop with the flashbacks. Enough already._

She's practically out of the passenger window and on the asphalt; she's inched so far away from me. I think if she could ride on the roof-rack then she would.

I keep my eyes locked on the road- moving forwards. If I look at the road then I won't be looking at her, talking to her, thinking of how warm her lips were pressed against mine, how soft her body was… how much I want to kiss her again…

Hell, let's be honest.

I want to do a lot more than just kiss her.

Up until now I think I did a fairly good job of keeping my feelings hidden from her, but now she sees it. She sees how much I want her.

I wanted her practically from the first second I saw her.

It took me practically shoving my tongue down her throat to come to my senses and realise that she'll never want me back. It frightened me, this sudden intensity of feelings that I had the second my lips met hers, and I don't _get_ scared. Ever. I've fine-tuned myself to be deliberately impersonal, almost to the point of coldness, but when she made an actual point of commenting on it, damn, it hurt.

Not only _that,_ I mean, if I _could_ ignore the fact that she won't get the hell out of my head and she's started to get under my skin in a way that kind of frightens me, the basic fact of the matter is: getting involved with a colleague is basically synonymous with career suicide- what the hell was I thinking? Bottom line, I wasn't.

After everything she's going through and how scared she was last night, I decide to choose today to act on impulse, throw caution to the wind and _not_ play by the book for practically the first time in my whole life.

In my head, I scream silently at my own stupidity.

I just wrecked everything.

How could I be so dumb?

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_**Nadia…**_

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I hate this. He can't even look at me he's so embarrassed, and yes, he's doing that thing, biting on his lips again, only now it's even worse because I _know_ how he kisses and Jesus it was amazing. Completely earth-shattering in fact. I thought kisses like that only happened in the movies.

At least from my perspective it was amazing. From the way he's now totally ignoring me, I know I must be a seriously bad kisser, especially from the way he moved away from me so fast.

Maybe it's my breath?

I surreptitiously breathe against my hand. Nope, breath's ok, especially after I ate all those Lifesavers earlier.

Maybe it _was_ a mistake after all; I mean he did say he shouldn't have done it. Maybe he was just trying to prove a point- that he's not so damn icy after all.

Lousy way to do it.

What an asshole.

And now, because of the way I kissed him back, he's probably all smug and egotistical in knowing that I like _him_.

_Way to be nonchalant, Nadia_. _You really excelled yourself this time. Kudos on the whole throwing yourself at him thing._

I frown and continue looking out of the window, thankful at least for something _else_ to worry about now, other than Harper and his henchmen finding us.

Makes a change.

I can't wait to get out of this car.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Maturity**

**A/N:** Huge thanks to Cybertoothtiger who's really helped me out with background info to Canada- mucho gracias- hope you like this chapter! Thanks for all your reviews!

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_**Doyle…**_

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Ok, this really isn't good. I'm feeling more than awkward about what just happened back there and my jeans are a little tight, threatening to cut off the circulation to areas which I'd much rather stayed intact. Every time I have to change a gear I wince at the friction.

Focus Mike, focus.

She bites her fingernail and stares out of the window at the pine and spruce trees, like they're the most fascinating thing ever as I drive us toward route markers indicating Fort St John. I can't tell if she's upset or not, but I mean, she must feel pretty weirded out by this whole thing too. Its not really normal CTU decorum for an agent to stick his tongue down a colleague's throat. _Unless you're Milo Pressman that is_. Damn it! Why did I kiss her? Why did I stop? No, I _know_ why I stopped. _Crappit-_ now I'm thinking about doing it again.

I blink and just tune everything out as Nadia fiddles with the heater, trying to inject some kind of warmth into the vehicle. Part of me wishes she'd even start up with her random, pointless questions again, hell I'd probably even _answer_ a few of them just to get away from this god-awful silence. But nope, she remains mutinously quiet.

After forty minutes or so of tension so thick you'd need to nuke it in a microwave and really bad traffic, I see a sign pointing to a Holiday Inn, and pull into the lot. Her eyes register surprise, which makes sense, since we haven't been driving for nearly as long as we usually do, but she remains silent.

"I need to rest," I finally venture, knowing that my voice is harsh but not being able to do anything about it.

She nods and we get out of the car and I check us in as she loiters by the pamphlets at the reception desk, doing her best to look like any regular tourist as she examines brochures on Calgary and Edmonton with studied interest; I mean she _looks_ like a regular tourist aside from the fading cuts and stuff on her face, that is. I moodily trudge down the corridor, lugging our stuff and she unlocks the door as both of us hang about warily on the room's threshold like a couple of idiots. Oh for fucks sake… Despite myself, I don't enter the room either.

"Which bed do you want?" she finally asks as she goes inside, breaking the terse silence as she eyes the two beds- one double over by the window and the single pushed by the wardrobe.

"I really don't care either way," I mutter, rubbing the nape of my neck and feeling all the tension in my body as we stand in the middle of the room surveying its contents. It's kind of well, not nice, but at least habitable, a little better than the others we've had this past week. We've gone upmarket. No tassels, no hookers outside (though there might be some elk or something) and no seventies throwback furniture. This joint even has a television.

Thank god. I can watch ESPN or something. Maybe there's a hockey game on. At least if the Maple Leafs are playing then I won't have to talk to her. Ice Hockey really isn't my sport, but I'd welcome any kind of distraction at this point.

"_Big surprise_," she mutters under her breath at my blasé response to her question, but I don't miss it and pause as I'm just about to flick on the TV.

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" I don't like her tone and turn to face her, tossing the remote onto the bed.

"I mean you really don't care about a lot of things, do you?" she counters. "Or if you _do_ then I don't know about it. You're always so damn dismissive and evasive that I never know what you're thinking."

"What the hell does that matter?" I shut the door after us and lock it.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything," she throws back, moodily.

Ok, so we're talking again, or rather, boom! we're fighting again. Makes a nice change from the tension hanging over us in the car. Woo hoo.

"No, let's have it out," I counter, "you obviously have something to say, so just say it."

"No."

"Fine, then quit with the immature remarks, jeez, do you have to be such a _baby_ about everything?"

Her mouth opens as she slowly turns to face me. "Oh yeah. _Way_ mature. If you're going to insult me then at least have the vocabulary and temerity to do it properly. I haven't been called a baby since I fell off the jungle gym when I was six years old."

"Maybe you've reverted backwards then, because from where I'm standing, you're certainly acting kind of childish," I take a perverse, delicious pleasure in watching the fury storm into those brown eyes of hers. _Hello._

Her beautiful face is marred by several shades of anger and colour rises in her cheeks as I watch her in fascination as she tries to think of some kind of retaliating remark. This is kind of fun. It's nice to actually get pissed off at someone for a change, the atmosphere has been so claustrophobic and repressive for the last few days, it was beginning to grate on me. _Man, she's hot. _

"God, you're such a damn _effort_, you know that? Take that stick out of your ass for five minutes and stop being so damn uptight!" she snaps, "am I not even allowed to have an opinion now without you getting all defensive?"

I feel myself scowling, "that's mature too. I think you just proved my point. _So _mature it's not even worth dignifying with a response."

"I'm fed up of this!" she hisses suddenly, "with you blowing hot and cold. I never know where the hell I stand with you- you're screaming at me one minute, nice to me the next, shouting at me all over again and then kissing me-- and I'm sick of it. If you hate me so much, you should just ignore me entirely. Like you were doing."

I gaze at her incredulously. Ok, so she's pissed because I kissed her. _That's_ the reason why she's freezing me out? If I'd have known she'd have been so mad then I wouldn't have done it at all. I couldn't help the fact that she looked so damn sexy in the rain or the effect she had on my libido.

_Damn it Doyle! Stop thinking about kissing her!_

"Fine, I'll go back to being that icy bastard you so much prefer," I storm, tossing my own bag on the bed furiously. "Act like a damn machine again."

"I'm not even here, remember? I don't give a shit _what _you do, so long as you get me through this alive," her voice is curt as she dumps her stuff on the floor and pulls out some shampoo. "I'm supposed to be _dead _after all."

"Yeah, well you certainly got the corpse chill-factor thing down pretty well, freezing me out."

She glares at me, her eyes burning fire. "You have the audacity to say that to _me?_ It's obviously something I picked up from you. You're so goddamn cold I'm thinking you're probably dead from the neck down! Go to hell, Mike."

"Yeah well---" and I _swear_ I have no idea where this comes from; "--I'm obviously not such hot stuff as Pressman huh? Sorry to disappoint you."

Ok, too far. I instantly realise I've gone too far. _Fuck_. Not only did I insult her, but also her friendship- relationship, whatever you want to call it, with Milo. A guy who died to save her life. That was low, even for me.

She gapes at me looking apalled and I realise I've actually stunned her into silence. I guess there's a first time for everything, but I certainly don't feel triumphant because that expression of sudden anger and immense sadness in her eyes makes my stomach churn. I've crossed the line. In fact, I didn't just cross it; I turned three cartwheels and damn near somersaulted over it.

"How DARE you?" she finally hisses when she recovers the power of speech. "How the hell _dare_ you?"

"Nadia I---"

"You don't know anything about me," she accuses, "_or_ Milo. I can't believe you have the gall to actually stand there and---" she's speechless again, processing my words.

"I'm sorry…" I sound sincere, but she probably doesn't think so, judging by the hot fury I see burning in her cheeks. _Fuck. That's the worst thing I ever said or did to anyone. She's still torn up about the guy- he died to save her life and I just ripped into them. It's none of my business what they did or __didn't__ have. Why should I care anyways? Why did I even say that? Ugh. Doyle you dick._

"You should be a lot more than sorry!" her eyes narrow into dangerous slits, "you goddamn son of a bitch."

"I know, I---"

"Why the hell should it even matter to you about me and Milo anyway?" she suddenly counters and I practically see the wheels spinning in her head. The little hamster in there is going nineteen to the dozen. _Uh-oh._

"What?" I retort, as neutrally as possible and I'm instantly realising my mistake.

She flanks her hands on her hips and eyeballs me. "Me. And. Milo." Her voice is clipped; "why the hell did you bring _that _up?"

"I---" _Shit._

"You're jealous," she suddenly states as the realisation dawns on her face.

"Oh yeah, _big_ time," I snort sarcastically. My face is burning and panic claws at me. My palms are all sweaty and I realise my heart's thudding a little more quickly. Holy shit, I just became a cliché. I'm behaving like some lunatic out of one of those vapid harlequin novels my sister-in-law is always reading.

"Then why _else_ did you bring up his name?" she challenges me, taking a step closer to me.

I won't be intimidated by her. I won't. But despite myself I take a little step backward. _Think Mike, think. You can lie your way out of this one, or make up excuses. You're usually _good _at thinking on your feet._

But, for some reason my brain's totally refusing to play ball. I can practically feel the tumbleweeds turning in there and cringe in self-disgust.

_Gee, thanks brain for totally abandoning me there, buddy._

"Well?" Nadia demands.

"Oh, _get over yourself_," I roll my eyes like her accusation is the most absurd thing I ever heard in my life, "you clearly have a very over-inflated ego if you think I give a damn either way about your little altercation with Milo Pressman."

"I'm not the one who randomly threw his name into the conversation."

"And I'm not the one who's reading more into an insulted remark than was intended," I point out, actually quite proud of myself at this response. I almost sound convincing.

She's not buying; "whatever."

"What do you mean _'whatever?'_" I demand caustically. God, I hate that phrase, it's so dismissive and it clearly indicates that she doesn't believe a word that I just said. "Like I'd ever be jealous of you and the _techie_. I don't give a damn about who you kiss."

_My god, I'm so patronising. I can't believe all these words are coming out of my mouth. Who AM I?_

"You were singing a different tune from _that_ a couple of hours ago when you had your tongue shoved down my throat," she snaps, her eyes glinting with lazy triumph.

"Then I was obviously bordering on some kind of temporary insanity," I counter, caustically; "because I sure wouldn't go near you again if you were the last woman on earth."

"Yeah. _Whatever_."

"I _mean_ it," I hiss through clenched teeth, and I'm furious with her all of a sudden. God, she's so friggin' annoying. How can she stand there like that, presuming things? Ok, so she's right, but I don't want her to know that. "Peppy cheerleader isn't my type."

"_Cheerleader_?" she demands, indignantly.

"Yes. Cheerleader. You're always little miss perky, aren't you? Always trying to get me to talk and you're so damn optimistic about everything."

"Like that's a bad thing? Well you know what?" she states, eyeing me up and down and folding her arms; "I don't believe a word you're saying... You call _me_ juvenile? Hah! Oh and for the record, nothing happened between Milo and I. We kissed and that's only because he caught me off-guard. We were friends, is all."

"Like I said, I don't care." _Liar, _a devious voice in the back of my head whispers. _It matters and it maybe matters to you that she's trying to justify it to you._

A smug little smile curls her lips as her eyes suddenly rest very pointedly on my crotch which has rather annoyingly sprung to attention all of a sudden, yet again- shit… busted. "Ok then, well, if _that's_ the way you feel we'll say no more about it," she says airily; "I'm going to shower now and I'm sure you won't mind if I use up_ all_ the hot water, will you?" a knowing little smirk creeps over her lips: "You look like you could use some cooling off."

With those words and her blatant one-upmanship, she grabs her towel and stalks through to the bathroom, slamming the door after herself so hard that I wince.

_Yeah, great job Mike. _

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	19. Chapter 19

**The tension disperses**

**A/N: Things get steamy…**

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_**Doyle…**_

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Ok, so finally my blood pressure seems to have got back to normal and miracle of all miracles, my circulation seems to be back to normal _down there_ again too. Maybe I won't need that cold shower after all, but I'll probably wind up with one because Nadia's been in that goddamn bathroom so long there'll be no hot water left by now. She's been in there a long while, should I be worried? The shower's still going, but surely no one, even a_woman_, can shower for that long.

I bite my lip anxiously. After what just happened, I don't even know if she even wants to talk to me, but I'm concerned. She's been looking pretty tearful all day; this whole terrorist mess is clearly getting to her. My snide comments and insults (ok, abuse) certainly can't have helped matters. I knew that, so why did I still persist in being a bastard to her?

I eventually knock lightly on the bathroom door and strain my ears to hear anything, bracing myself for an onslaught of yells from her. "Nadia..?"

Nothing, just running water. I knock again, sudden tension twisting in my gut.

Jesus, what if she slipped over and hit her head in there? More _likely_ she's ignoring me, but what if she's hurt or something?

"Nadia?"

Experimentally I push lightly against the bathroom door, it moves under my hand. Thank god, it's not locked. "Nadia... I'm coming in, ok? Seriously, if you _are_ in the shower, cover yourself, scream at me-- _I deserve it_... anything."

Nothing.

I frantically open the door. A volley of steam hits me in the face and it takes me a minute to adjust my eyes.

She's hugging her knees, sat on the cold bathroom floor, resting against the tub and still wearing her clothes. At first I think she's fallen and hurt herself, but then I realise she's crying. Her shoulders are shaking; she's trying so hard to keep quiet.

Hot wet tears fall down her face and drip onto her jeans.

She looks startled to see me, then embarrassed all at once, as I waft my way through the hot steam to get to her, I guess she didn't hear me over the noise of the shower. A Holiday Inn power shower is_definitely_ an improvement over the shitty ones we've had lately. This one is like Niagara Falls. There's even the same goddamn mist shrouding us.

"You ok?" I kneel down beside her as she awkwardly wipes away tears and nods silently, her lower lip wobbling a little.

Is this what she does? Cries when the shower's running just so I can't hear her?

I am now officially the biggest asshole in the world.

"I'm fine," she practically whispers, but I can see it in her eyes that she'snot fine.I stand up and turn off the shower.

Silence, save for the incessant dripping from the showerhead.

Uncertain of what to do, I sit back down beside her, leaning against the tub, too.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Why the hell are _you _sorry?" I ask, amazed. "God Nadia I'm the one who upset you. I'm _so_ sorry. Jesus, I can't even be nice to you for five minutes without shooting my mouth off with stupid comments. You're right, I'm so damn evasive all the time but that's no excuse for saying those things I did to you…"

"No, I mean, everything's kind of getting on top of me at the moment," she says, quietly, "it wasn't you, really."

_That_ expression causes my mind to make wild leaps to places that I really wish it wouldn't. How fucked up am I? She's sat here crying and I'm thinking about how much I.. well, want to get on top of _her_ I guess. Damnit.

Like she realises the way her statement sounds, she interjects quickly; "I mean, I guess I'm a little stressed, is all." Her cheeks are pink.

"I was a real jerk to you," I say adamantly, "you've been going through a really tough time with this whole thing and I was behaving like it was all your fault."

"No, I mean, you got dragged into this whole thing because of _me_," she says bleakly, "you have every right to be mad at me. You had to leave LA because of me."

I shift uncomfortably, "um, in case you didn't notice, I wasn't exactly winning many popularity contests back there. It's not _really_ that much of a hardship to be driving around the Canadian wilderness with you."

A little smile tugs on her lips at this and deep down I feel gratified that my astute statement can garner a little humour from her, even when she's this upset. "And I don't blame you for anything," I continue quickly, aware I'm getting kind of mushy, "but most of all I'm really sorry for what I said about you and Milo. I guess I was just looking for someone to get mad at."

She lifts her shoulders a little, "I was kind of goading you into an argument," she says quietly, "things have been so oppressive between us and so tense, and I just wanted—" her voice trails off and she looks down before saying in a small voice: "I'm sorry.."

"Stop saying sorry!"

"But I'm being such a… _girl_ about this," she mumbles, "I guess everything's kind of getting to me at the moment but tears are such a sign of weakness and I HATE crying."

I pull off some toilet roll from the dispenser and hand it to her as she wipes her eyes again and sit back down beside her.

"Nadia, you've been threatened by terrorists, were practically murdered the other day, people think you're dead, you're in hiding and you've been taken away from everyone and everything you know. We're stuck in yet another shitty motel and it's been raining for the past four days," I say simply; "I figure that it's kind of ok if you need to cry about it."

Ok, not the most profound thing I probably could have said at this point in time. Curse my inability to get in touch with my emotions!

I breathe out, frustrated with myself, "I mean, you know, if you want to cry… it's ok. I don't mind."

So she does. She puts her head in her hands like she doesn't want me to see, and even before I'm aware I'm doing it, I'm pulling her against me and stroking her hair soothingly as she finally buries her head against my chest. I feel her tears seeping through my shirt as they fall like rain. She's cocooned in my arms and I figure that maybe for _once_ I said the appropriate thing.

There's always a first time.

"Shhh," I tell her softly, "it's ok. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

She needs to cry. Let it all out. Hell, I wish I could do it too. It means something to me though, that she seems to trust me enough to let her guard down in front of me. Especially after the way I've been treating her.

I let her cry, continue stroking her hair, running my hands lightly over her slender back in what I hope is a soothing motion. I doubt its making her feel better, but I can hope it is.

"You know," I begin with a little smile as her sobs start to subside, "when you asked me if I was going to shower with you the other day, this wasn't_exactly_ what I was thinking about…"

She lifts her head and hiccups with laughter, a watery smile on her face and just like that, all the tension between us disperses.

"C'mon," I help her up, "it's too damn steamy in here. Let's go in the other room for a while, ok?"

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"I ruined your shirt," she says, sitting down on the double bed.

"What?" I look down at myself.

"Your shirt," she repeats, her cheeks reddening, "I cried all over it and now it's got watermarks."

"Forget about it," I say as I unthinkingly pull it off, "it's an old shirt."

I then realise I'm standing bare-chested in front of her and flush too. _Way to go, Mike. _ Instantly she averts her eyes and I fumble in my bag for something new to put on.

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_**Nadia…**_

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Ok, so I just totally humiliated myself in front of him- again. Sobbing like a baby on the bathroom floor of all places, bawling all over his shirt. He must think I'm such a mess.

He made it worse by being so damn nice to me. He chooses _today_ to finally comfort me? When he's already kissed me then pulled away? Not to mention _insult_ me a whole bunch of times.

Shot down in flames.

I cannot read him at all.

He absentmindedly pulls off his wrecked shirt and I'm met with the not unwelcome sight of a very nice manly body.

Very nice indeed.

I mean, if there was a pool for the CTU Agent with the best body, he could _totally_ win it. Nicely defined pectoral muscles, not too bulky arms and a slim waist. Mmm.. nicely sprinkled chest hair..

Holy hell, is that a _tattoo_ peeking out above the waistband of his jeans?

_Mike Doyle_ has a tattoo!

I don't know about you, but a strategically placed tattoo on a nice male body does it for me every time, and Mike Doyle's body is infinitely nicer than your average man's.

He's just standing there completely unawares that I'm gawking at his body like some kind of adolescent schoolgirl with a crush. I blink in embarrassment, looking away. My cheeks feel rather hot.

He quickly pulls on a clean t-shirt. _Damnit, maybe he's more aware than I think_.

Ok, so that wasn't awkward _at all._

He sits down on the edge of the double bed, which before seemed so big and now seems so small.

"You ok now?" he asks, and it actually looks like he means it.

I nod woodenly._Your body kinda made me feel better. Welcome distraction. Can I see it again please?_

"Want to watch TV or something?"

"Ok." _No. I want you to kiss me again like you did earlier._

He flicks on the TV and hands me the remote as we both perch on the double bed a little uncomfortably. Well, _I'm_ feeling kind of uncomfortable; he looks the same as always- in that I can't read how he's feeling at all.

"What do you want to watch?" I venture. _Or can you think of some other way to amuse me?_

"I don't mind. You choose."

_Damnit!_

Ok, so now he's being totally nice to me and it's kind of freaking me out a little. I figure I can handle angry Doyle, moody Doyle and perhaps even argumentative Doyle should the occasion arise- as indeed I have done, but _nice_ Doyle?

It throws me a little. God, I wish I hadn't cried in front of him.

I surf the channels aimlessly, my mind is kind of elsewhere. Ice Hockey. _Lame_. If I was at home and actually had the _luxury_ of a night in watching television, I'd probably watch some kind of romance movie or some crappy talk show. Something tells me Mike Doyle isn't really into that particular type of TV genre. He doesn't seem to show much interest in the Maple Leafs though, or the news bulletins.

I settle for an action movie instead. It's going ok, until some kind of interrogation/torturey scene comes on with Bruce Willis, he's brandishing a knife, bald head glistening with sweat as he jabs his weapon toward the suspect, and I kind of freeze a little. _Ugh, flashback. Go away!_

Mike grabs the remote and snaps over to HBO instead. "Let's watch something else instead," he says easily, like it's no big deal and he didn't even notice that I totally spazzed out on him. He makes a little face at the Sex and The City re-run that's showing, nixes a documentary about killer bees and then flicks onto another channel. Five minutes later we're sat there watching Everyone Loves Raymond and it's all suddenly ok again.

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_**Doyle…**_

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It's getting dark outside now. We're watching some stupid comedy, but I'd watch _anything_, even Sarah Jessica Parker tottering around in stilettos if I had to, if it got rid of that horrible, frightened expression on Nadia's face when she saw the interrogation scene in that movie. She was shaky, much as she tried to hide it, so I changed the channel.

She seemed relieved, but the bigger part of me wonders what she was like after I interrogated her- had her by the throat. Did I scare her too? God, I hope she didn't have flashbacks about it like what she's so clearly having now.

I just want to take her pain away.

She's pretty quiet and when I look over after ten minutes or so, I realise she's fallen asleep.

I slowly switch of the TV and stand off the bed. She can have the double bed, I'll take the single, I don't want to rock the boat, not now that things are ok again between us. Or at least as ok as they _can_ be. She's curled up into a little tiny ball and she looks so peaceful as she sleeps. I go to pull the quilt over her and she jumps, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes are alert. Whoa, light sleeper.

"Sorry..." I apologise, feeling my ears turning red, "I was just…"

My voice trails off as I realise what close proximity I'm in to her as I lean over her. I just look at her and suddenly its like I'm drowning in her eyes, and I swear time stands still.

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**Hehe. Cliffy. Oh come on, did you think I'd really let them do it ****just**** yet? I like a build up of a couple of chapters at least! Leave a review cos' they make my day.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A Misunderstanding**

**A/N: **Um, scenes of consensual adult sex coming up! It's not actually graphic or anything and its more implied than described, just thought I'd put a warning for those who might be offended by it. Anyhoo, hope you like it!

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_**Nadia….**_

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"Sorry I was just.." his voice is low, husky as he leans over me, the quilt in his hands, then he drops it, and then all of a sudden we're kissing again, but only this time, in this dingy room, it's even hotter than what it was out in the rainstorm earlier. I think it was _him_ who instigated it, but I know I moved upward towards him so I'm not even sure any more.

Hell, what happened to 'I wouldn't go near you again if you were the last woman on earth?' Whatever, I can't even think straight anymore. All that I'm conscious of is this moment, and its pretty damn sizzling.

We're still kissing. His mouth is hot and desperate on mine and there's no way that I want him to stop as I pull him on top of me, a tangle of limbs crashing down onto the bed. I'm in his arms, his hands are in my hair, on my back, then down on my waist, he's pulling me towards him and oh god it feels so good as he presses against me.

How is it that a man who seems so cold can practically set me on fire with his kisses? When he touches me, caresses the side of my face with an unexpected gentleness, I forget everything, how scared I've been, that awful nightmare; he's the only person I can see. He tugs at my lower lip with his teeth as I gasp at the sensation of his warm lips, as he slips his hands under my t-shirt and trails his fingers lightly over my stomach.

We shift positions on the bed and I'm practically on top of him now. I feel him, hard beneath me and wriggle against him experimentally as he groans a little, breaking the kiss.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me here?" he gasps, his eyes dark, lips swollen as his torso muscles contract tightly under my wandering hands.

I can tell it's a rhetorical question, which is a good thing as I don't think I could speak coherently now if my life depended on it. Then he locks me back in his arms and moves his lips down my neck and all of a sudden it's _me_ who's groaning. In the flurry of urgent kisses that follow, zippers rasp, buttons pop open, and ohgodohgod I never wanted anything so bad in my life before.

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Afterward -quite some time later, I mean I'm _totally_ impressed with his stamina- we're both silent. No post-coital glow here. We just kind of meet each others eyes awkwardly. He moves first and quickly pulls on his pants and dumps the condom in the trash can in the bathroom. When he comes back into the room he doesn't seem to know what to say to me. His hands that moved so deliciously over me earlier are now clenched in helpless fists.

His mouth opens and closes a few times like he wants to speak, but no words come out. His hair is all rumpled; his eyes kind of wide and shocked. Which is the way I feel.

This was kind of unexpected. Or not, depending on the way things have been going the past couple of days.

The column of my throat feels burned by his light stubble as he kissed his way down it only minutes ago. I run my fingers over it self consciously as I pull the bedcovers right up to my chin to hide my nakedness and hug my knees. Stupid to be self-conscious now, right? _Way_ too late for modesty.

I wait for him to speak.

His face is flushed; his eyes that roamed all over my body are now lowered as he finally breaks the silence. "T—that shouldn't have happened."

I feel sick with disbelief, my heart twists in pain as I just gape at him in shock.

Is he _serious?_

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_**Doyle…**_

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"T—that shouldn't have happened."

_Shit, no. That didn't come out right._ I can tell just by looking at her face. My stomach lurches and I feel slightly nauseous at the distress that suddenly flickers in her eyes.

She practically turns white, starts scrabbling around for her clothes, a towel, anything to cover herself up and I damn near want to start crying at the loss of naked skin. This should have been perfect, only once more I've ruined everything.

"I didn't mean it like _that_," I'm practically babbling, I'm so desperate to rescue this situation, make it right, "I just meant---"

_Fuck. You blew it. _

Frustration builds up inside me at my own inability to communicate with her. Thatwasn't what I meant at all but I can see what she's thinking. Why can't I express my feelings like a normal person for once?

She eventually settles for a towel, pulls it tightly around herself, the whole time not looking at me. I feel sick and my gut is twisting. Perspiration beads on my upper lip and I'm trying desperately to think of some way to rectify this. To make this right.

Her eyes are cool, looking everywhere but at me. "I know what you 'just meant,'" she says icily.

"No, you don't understand," I hasten to explain, near enough tripping over myself in my hurry to make this ok, to make her understand what I'm really feeling and thinking for once in my sorry life; "I didn't mean it to come out like that. The way that sounded wasn't--"

"You're right," she spits out suddenly and right then I can't decipher the look on her face at all, "it _shouldn't _have happened."

_What? _I'm silenced by my own shock.

She agrees with me, but not in the way that I want her to. Panic rises, choking me.

"It was a _mistake_," she continues curtly, "we both know it, alright? Call it a pity fuck, whatever. Don't worry, it won't happen again."

I want to throw up. I feel the ground suddenly lurch from under me. _A pity fuck?_ That's all I am to her?

She stalks to the bathroom, "I'm going to shower," is her final parting shot as she opens the door, her voice is sharp as razor blades, her eyes colder than I've ever seen. "Try not to join me this time, ok?"

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_**Nadia…**_

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The scent of him is still on my skin as I sink to the floor of the shower, dropping any kind of pretext that I'm alright with what just happened between us. So much for saving face. I'm a wreck. Did I just stumble into some kind of bad soap opera?

This time the tears that fall down my face aren't out of fear or frustration, they're of anguish. Pain. I wrap my arms around myself and sob uncontrollably, the sound of the spray washing away my tears as quickly as they fall as I rest my head back against the tiles reflecting on what just went on.

I can't believe that I've gone and fallen in _love_ with him and after the best sex of my life, he tells me it 'shouldn't have happened.'

He screwed me out of _sympathy_.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I can't believe I've fallen in love with him.

I'm such an idiot.

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_**Doyle…**_

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I can still smell her on my skin- the coconut of her shampoo, the delicate fragrance of her perfume lingering on the pillowcases.

I sit on the bed in stunned silence, amid the rumpled sheets trying to process what the hell just happened.

I can hear the shower running next door, the loud ticking of the clock on the bedside table is harsh in the otherwise silent room. Our strewn clothes are scattered all over the floor, the foil wrapper from the condom is lying on the striped rug, taunting me. Reminding me of what we just did.

My hands are trembling as I get dressed, striving for some semblance of control. My nerves have gone to hell.

And I never get nervous.

I don't know what to do.

I can't _believe_ that what we just did literally meant nothing to her.

_"A mistake."_

I can't believe I've fallen in love with her.

I'm such an idiot.

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**A/N: **I like a little Nadia/Doyle misunderstanding. You didn't think it was going to all be _ok_ just like that, did you? Come on! ;-D


	21. Chapter 21

**Conversations through locked doors**

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_**Nadia…**_

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I don't know what to do. I can't stay in the bathroom forever- it might look kind of weird and I might start getting hungry soon- but I _really _don't think I can go out and face him either. How can I go back into that room and look at that bed that we just had sex in like nothing happened?

He might be good at keeping his feelings hidden, turning them on and off, but _I'm _not.

My tears are drying now, I'm just.. hurt I guess. Confused. How can he kiss me like that, make love to me like that, and then say it _shouldn't have happened_? Surely the feelings that have been brewing between us can't _all_ be one-sided, not just in my head?

I stand up shakily and wash my hair and my mind's spinning, re-living what just happened between us like a CD stuck on repeat. Which is a _bad_ idea. I mentally command myself to stop thinking. To get angry. I mean, he's made it quite clear it's never going to happen again. I switch the shower to cold, a good dose of freezing water is just what I need to regain some clarity in this situation.

I'm just switching off the shower when he knocks at the door brusquely.

_"What?"_ I yank the dial viciously and wrap my towel around myself.

"If you're planning on hiding in there all night, I don't think that's a good idea."

"At least then you'll know where I am."

"It might be best if you come out here, so we can talk about what just happened."

his voice is level, direct.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, do you?" I retort. "Don't worry, I'm not crying again." I wrap myself in my towel and rest against the door in frustration, trying to regain some composure.

"Please Nadia, I don't want to have this conversation through a locked bathroom door."

"I can't look at you right now."

I can almost _hear_ him getting angry as he drops the calm voice- _well, it was only a matter of time_, "why? You were the one that said it was a _mistake_"

"You said it shouldn't have happened _first_!" I snap by way of retaliation as I squeeze the water droplets from my hair and gaze bleakly into the mirror. The fluorescent lighting gives me a deathly yellow pallor. Terrific. This night's just getting better and better.

"You called it a _pity fuck_!" he yells, his voice getting even louder, "is that all I am to you? Is that what you see me as?"

I still in bewilderment. _What?_

He's silent now too. Then when he speaks again, his voice is cold. "Answer the question."

"I wasn't talking about you," I mumble, confused and a little offended that he could ever _think_ that I'd feel that way about him, "I was talking about _me_."

He's silent again. "What?" he finally asks, sounded totally shocked.

"I didn't want you to make love—I mean, _have sex_ with me out of sympathy," I say quietly, pressing my head against the door. "That was the last thing I wanted."

"Nadia I---" his voice falters; "I—I never---"

"I can't deal with this right now," I sigh, just wanting him to go away.

"You think _that's _what it was? Sympathy?" he finally demands, sounding uncertain.

"Wasn't it?"

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_**Doyle…**_

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"You think that's what it was? Sympathy?" I ask helplessly, clenching my fists as I rest my head against the door.

"Wasn't it?" her voice is soft.

I can't believe we're having this conversation and I can't believe she honestly thought that I had sex with her out of _sympathy_. Jesus. What kind of person does she think I am? More importantly, what kind of person do I think _she_ is? Fuck, no wonder she said that stuff. She was trying to save face. I'd have done exactly the same thing. I should have realised. I'm clearly missing more than just a sensitivity chip right now. This is what happens when you let your libido take over.

Talk about miscommunication. A _major_ case of crossed wires.

Looks like both of us have jumped to conclusions.

"Nadia… no."

"No?" she asks almost doubtfully but I can detect something that sounds kind of like hopefulness in her tone.

"_No_," I reiterate firmly, hoping that she'll believe me, "god… I would _never,_ I mean.. with you.. it wasn't like that. I couldn't—it could _never_ just be…" I swallow, uncertain of what to do or say.

"Then why?" she asks doubtfully. "Why did you kiss me—and then, um, y'know-- why did you say it shouldn't have happened?"

"Because— I kissed you… because I _wanted_ you," I finally admit; and it's a relief to get it off my chest at last, "hell Nadia, I've wanted you for so long and being around you.. it's getting harder and harder.. when I'm around you I can't even remember my own name sometimes.." I rake my hand through my hair, beyond frustrated at my inaptitude to express myself vocally; "when I said it 'shouldn't have happened,' I didn't mean it _shouldn't_ have happened, I meant.. it shouldn't have happened now."

She's silent and I continue, slightly comforted by the fact that she's not interrupting me, that she's listening to what I'm saying.

"Not like _this_... in some dingy motel room when all this other stuff is going on… when you could be in danger. God Nadia, if something happened to you because I was _distracted_ I would never forgive myself."

Then I whirl around, my heart in my mouth, as there's a sudden knock on the door.

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_**Nadia…**_

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"Mike?" I say fearfully as he's suddenly totally silent.

I can't believe all that stuff he just said to me. Did he mean it? He sounded so sincere, I never heard him talk like that before.

Then I hear something that sends a little shiver down my spine- the clicking of the safety catch of his gun.

Someone's here.

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**A/N: **Sorry, this is shorter than I planned, but my computer crashed and I lost half of what I'd already written! Also- editing it on this site really doesn't agree with my laptop. Next chapter's a LOT longer and will be posted ASAP.


	22. Chapter 22

**Bait**

**A/N:** Sorry this has taken me forever to update but I really struggled with this chapter, which probably shows. Hopefully the length of it makes up for the delay?!! The next chapter will be updated more quickly, hopefully. Thanks for reading!

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_**Jack….**_

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"I'm here. Outside their room, now," I speak into my cell as I knock on the motel room door, having just scared the shit out of the hotel receptionists by bursting in and waving my gun around, telling them to make sure all guests (I doubt there are many because we're in the middle of nowhere, here) stay the hell in their rooms. Dramatic, moi?

Forget the theatrics, I'm fucking exhausted. I set the chopper down in Kamloops to refuel, barely having time to take a piss, then once more was up in the air again, the whole time being bombarded with information from Chloe, Morris and Bill and random phone calls from Karen Hayes. A goddamn conference call at 25000 feet. Go figure. Still, it beats hanging off the underside of a lorry and trying to make a cell call. _Yes. I'm Jack Bauer and this __is__ my life._

Using the item from the shipping manifesto that Morris pulled up, they traced the factory where Harper got the weapons manufactured before they were shipped over here. CTU Frankfurt is on the case and tracing all known associates of both Fletcher and Harper over there, joining the dots so to speak and from what they can ascertain, both of them have affiliations with a German terrorist group. Thank god we might finally get a break in this somewhere. Kind of a shame we have to endanger lives to do it, but hey. That's the norm with CTU.

"Great Jack. We have satellite feeds up showing the perimeter of the motel and the surrounding five mile radius and we're setting up thermal imaging," Chloe replies, "Harper's men are almost there. You have a little time to brief Nadia and Agent Doyle on the situation."

"Jack," Bill's voice cuts in, "it is _imperative_ that we get them out of there ASAP and somewhere open. Field Ops are on route with the chopper, but you need to keep these guys at bay until they can get there."

"Understood," I switch off my cell impatiently and wait for someone to open the goddamn door.

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_**Doyle…**_

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I freeze as there's a knock at the door.

"Mike?" Nadia asks, sounding confused, her voice muffled behind the bathroom door.

I grab my gun and flick off the safety, and then I tiptoe across the carpet. It might only be room service or something- kind of unlikely in this motel, but I'm taking no chances. I look through the spy-hole and nearly drop my gun in shock.

Jack Bauer.

What the hell..?

What's _he_ doing here?

I unlock the door, cautiously. He's taken a big risk by coming here, and what if he was followed? Crap, what if he's here under duress? What if he's wired? Nah, he's Jack Bauer. That would _never _happen.

"Jack.." I'm pretty sure my tone of voice belies my surprise and anxiousness. For the past few days it's been like Nadia and I were in some kind of little bubble cut off from everyone, now that Jack's here it's an instant reminder of the danger she's been in and the memories aren't pleasant.

"Mike," he greets me, his voice gruff, urgent. He looks tired and dishevelled, kind of like he drove all night to get here or something. "We don't have much time… where's Nadia?"

"Inside," I say, puzzled; "How the hell did you find us? What's---"

With a last look over his shoulders, he comes into the room, locking the door behind him, cutting me off. "Inside. We need to move fast."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my brain catching up rapidly, "Bill agreed that there'd be no con—"

"There's been a change of plan," Jack announces abruptly. "I don't have a lot of time to explain. Get Nadia. Now."

"I'm here.." she's stood in the doorway, wrapped in that towel and looking a little shell-shocked to see Jack. "What kind of _change of plan_?"

Jack's eyes cross from me to Nadia, then his eyes fall on the rumpled bed. Two beds, only one used. _Fuck_. A wry smile crosses his lips and there's recognition showing in his eyes, like he knows what's going on, but doesn't think its worth mentioning.

_Oh come on, it only happened_ one time _and what are the odds of Jack showing up right afterwards? Bad karma._

I bite my lip and Nadia turns pink, clearly thinking along similar lines to me. Then I notice the stubble marks all over her neck and shoulders where I got a bit too amorous and groan inwardly. Yeah, inconspicuous. _Not. _It's pretty obvious something went on between us. I'm not going to elaborate. Not when Nadia and I haven't even sorted out the situation ourselves.

"Nadia, go get dressed," he tells her gently, clearly not thinking it's worthwhile to comment, "then we'll talk, ok? We don't have much time."

She nods and quickly grabs her jeans and sweater. When she locks the bathroom door again, Jack turns to face me.

"You ok?" he asks simply. "You look kind of… tense."

He says 'tense' but I can read the suggestion in his voice. He's fishing.

"I'm alright." _Just wondering what the fuck is going on, is all. Don't rush to elaborate. And _stop_ looking at me like that!_

His eyes fall on the bed again and he looks at me questioningly. _No way pal, I'm not talking._

Nevertheless, I can feel my cheeks reddening under his discernible scrutiny and remember with a wince the time I accused _him_ of mixing his personal life with his professional one. Talk about hypocritical.

"Don't say anything Jack, you don't need to tell me. Alright?" I mutter, relieved I at least that I shifted the foil wrapper off the carpet.

"I wasn't going to say anything. It's none of my business." _Damn right its none of your business._

I put the safety back on my gun and change the subject. "What's going on? Why are you really here?"

"Call it back up."

"Back up?" I repeat.

The bathroom door opens and Nadia is stood there, a concerned expression on her face as she catches the end of his sentence. "Why do we need back up?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"Because we need you guys to get caught."

"_No way_," I say incredulously, instantly realising what he wants us to do and why he's really here. A set-up. Patented tactic but _fuck, _damn risky; "are you out of your fucking mind?!"

I can't decipher the expression in Nadia's eyes. "You need me to be bait?" she asks Jack, crossing to the window and folding her arms self-consciously as she stands in front of the closed curtains. I notice that she hasn't looked at me directly and my stomach churns uncomfortably. _Don't think about that now. Stop remembering what you just did._

"I need you to be _careless_," Jack reiterates. "And it might be best if you keep away from the windows."

Nadia gulps and sits on the bed.

"You want her to put herself in _danger_," I argue, "that's not going to happen. Do you realise what kind of risk you're asking her to take? She's not a field agent."

"There's no other option," Jack tells me, frustrated. "Mike, Harper's gone dark. We know he wants Nadia because she can testify against him, putting her out there will draw him out and then we can take him down. We found a whole bunch of stuff on their cell. Nadia has even more on them than she's aware of and they've joined all the dots. I don't have a lot of time to go into detail right now, but its imperative that we set this thing up. They think Nadia has the ability to take down their group and she's the person they're after."

"But I don't…" Nadia's looking confused, "I mean, I got a lot of Intel on them but I didn't know that---"

"What if you make a mistake, Jack?" I demand, cutting her off. I feel physically sick at the thought that she might wind up in danger again. Even something planned with military precision can go drastically wrong.

"I'm going to try my best to ensure that doesn't happen."

Nadia is sat on the bed looking pensive. Her shoulders are tense. Her hair is damp and curling at the ends and she suddenly shivers, whether it be from cold or the situation, I don't know. I'm aching to put my arms around her, but after everything that just happened, I know all I'd get would be a slap across the face.

Finally, she turns and looks at Jack. "What do you want me to do?"

Jack lifts his head, looking grim as the realisation hits me. "Nothing. They're already here.."

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_**Nadia…**_

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"You led them right to us, didn't you?" Mike asks Jack, his eyes widening.

"I _had_ to," Jack says simply, "exposing Nadia to them was the only way to get Harper uncovered, no one's been talking but we found a load of stuff on the cell, links in the documentation Nadia compiled to the background of Harper and Fletcher and---."

"Son of a bitch," Mike whispers, his eyes flashing in a way that I find really sexy, even though I realise that's _totally_ inappropriate right now. "A little advance warning would have been nice."

I feel sick, my palms are all clammy and I'm pretty sure my face betrays my anxiety as all what he's saying fully starts sinking in. "They're here? _Now?_"

"They knew I was coming here to meet you," Jack confirms, looking a little perturbed by Mike's anger and taking a couple of steps back. "We made it that way. Chloe purposely put a plant in the system indicating I'd had connections to you and opened up the system to let them in it, because after that call she managed to trace you. It was made easier with the weather we could hear in the background- we managed to pinpoint your exact location."

"What do we do?" I ask, at the same time Mike asks: "how many are there?"

He looks- defeated. Resigned. Maybe feeling a bit stupid that they managed to trace us. He shouldn't. Chloe O'Brien could find a needle in a haystack.

"I'm not sure," Jack replies, "Chloe's setting up satellite and—" just then his phone rings and he flips it open; "Bauer…" he listens and I can tell by his furrowed brow that it's Chloe as he falls silent, processing whatever she's telling him.

For the first time I dare to risk a glance at Mike and he's looking right back at me, a concerned expression on his face, his eyes slightly narrowed as he assesses my body language and my shaking hands, and then his eyes soften. I feel slightly more reassured by this, he'll look out for me, I _know_ he will. I feel safe with him. Both of us blink, breaking our eye contact as Jack tersely ends his call and turns to face us.

"Ok, there's maybe ten, twelve guys, surrounding the perimeter of the motel, I told the guys on reception what's going on and they're making sure the rest of the guests here are ok, and stay locked in their rooms. Local law enforcement are aware of the sting," Jack can finally answer Mike's question, then turns to face me assuringly.

"Nadia, we're going to keep you safe, I swear. Chloe has thermal imaging up of the hotel, and field ops are on route with helicopters, it's just a matter of keeping them at bay until they get here."

"How long will that be?" Mike asks angrily.

"Ten minutes, maybe a little longer. They're down a little way from here and didn't want to set off until we were sure Harper's guys had taken the bait." He slips in an earpiece, tweaking the nodule at the back and it makes a shrill beeping noise whilst he flinches. Man, that could get annoying.

"So we hold off ten guys with only _two_ guns?" Mike asks, looking frantic. I never saw him looking worried before and its actually making me feel a little nervous now too.

"Three.." Jack tosses me his ankle holster weapon and I catch it dubiously. It's a SIG Sauer, same as Mikes- regulation firearm, but it's been a while since I held one. I haven't fired a weapon since I left Quantico, something kind of deliberate on my part.

"In this motel room?" Mike asks, "uh Jack, I don't know if you _noticed_, but there's kind of limited space in here, any kind of attack won't exactly be done with the element of surprise."

I nod, having visions of us hiding behind the bed and in the wardrobe in some kind of twisted game of hide and seek.

"We need to create a diversion and get Nadia outside, some place more open," Jack says simply. "Bill's orders. Chloe, do you copy?" he switches the remote nodule to an open channel so we can all hear her.

"I can hear you Jack," comes her reassuring voice, "you guys ok?"

"We're fine, what can you see outside?"

"Five guys to the West side of the motel, another two on the roof to the North exit, three at the East car park and there's three on the South entrance."

"Copy that. Have you pulled up the schematics for the building?"

"I'm sending them to your PDA now."

Jack studies the picture Chloe has dispatched to him as I exchange a glance with Mike. "You ok?" he asks me softly, the first time he's spoken directly to me since his big confession whilst I was freaking out in the bathroom.

I nod wordlessly. This is all happening so fast. I feel the cool weight of the gun in my palm anxiously.

"You remember how to fire that thing?" he asks me. His voice is low in the room and I'm suddenly buzzing with adrenaline.

"I think so, it's been a while.." I grimace, reflecting that I'm not just talking about the firearm. _Stop it Nadia. Just stop it._

Jack tosses Mike a spare ear piece to link him back to CTU and shows him the schematics on the PDA which Mike assesses quickly, his eyes taking in the dimensions and interior and exterior of the building. "Morris is on Comms, you need this. Nadia stays with you at all times, understand? I need to cause a distraction so you guys can head out but hopefully draw Harper's team in."

Mike fits in the ear piece with some difficulty and I help him, realising that his hands are shaking too. "What do you want me to do?" he asks Jack, and our eyes briefly meet for a second before we both look away and my hands fall limply down by my waist.

"You take the North exit. Two snipers on the roof. Do not shoot to kill if you need to fire. We need all these guys alive. I'll move East and clear the car park so you can get going. Once in that car you just keep moving, understand? I doubt very much that Harper is here or even in the vicinity- I'm working on hunches alone.."

_Jeez, that's reassuring._

"…but we need to take as many of his men alive as possible. One of them is bound to talk and give us his location, understand?"

Mike nods, I can see how anxious he is.

"You're going to be ok Nadia," Jack tells me gently, "I promise."

I manage a weak smile.

"I'm sorry I had to do this," he continues, "but I really didn't see any other way to penetrate the cell. You're our best chance."

"I know," I admit ruefully. "It just kind of freaks me out being the target here."

"You guys go," Chloe's voice comes over the Comms device, "corridor is clear to the north exit. Move. Now!"

I follow Mike quickly as we dart from the room.

"Suspects heading toward the room on the outside of the motel," Morris's voice can be heard just as we're leaving, low and calming, "Jack, you need to leave now- head east- go!"

My heart is pounding as we creep down the empty corridor and I can hear the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Mike stealthily creeps around a corner and then beckons for me to join him. From this vantage point by the reception, we can see the exit and the car park in the distance, but first there's the small matter of two guys on the roof to take out.

From here we can't see much more outside- it's dark after all, and we don't know whereabouts on the roof they are- trained with their guns pointing directly at the doorway, or right above with them pointing downward, ready to take us out. I shiver.

"Morris, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear Mike. What's your status?"

"We're right near the north exit but I don't know the position of the assailants. It's too dark to see anything. I don't know if they're in front of us or above." I squint too. Nope, can't see anything either.

"From what I can see with thermal imaging, they're right above the north exit on the roof," Morris replies, the second you leave that hotel they'll get you. They have the advantage in this case.."

"Shit.." Mike mutters blearily, rubbing his eyes as he looks to the front of the motel, "are there any other ways out?"

"Not close by. You'd have to get over to where Jack's stationed and there's more assailants over there.."

My eyes fall suddenly on the fire extinguisher I can see behind the empty reception desk. "Mike.. I think I have an idea.."

"What is it?" he looks at me keenly and I can see I've got his full attention.

"CO2 powder," I say, gesturing to the canister, "if you can get that canister open it'll send a cloud of white powder up into the air. It should be enough covering to get us out of the hotel. They won't be able to see us from above…" my voice trails off. Mike is looking at me, a little surprised; "what?" I ask, feeling self conscious.

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_**Doyle…**_

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Shit, she's even smarter than I thought she was. If I didn't think it would be entirely inappropriate right now, I'd kiss her.

"What?" she asks, her eyes hesitant.

"How do you know this stuff?" I ask her.

"She looks a little embarrassed, "um.. in college, in our dorm rooms—someone kind of blew a fire extinguisher up to see what would happen. It made a bit of a mess."

I grin, despite the situation. "You _blew_ up a CO2 extinguisher?"

"I never said it was _me_. Besides, it was in the name of scientific research."

"You didn't have to. You're a genius," I tell her simply.

She looks kind of gratified by that remark, and that's when I realise it's the first time I ever actually paid her a compliment.

Great timing Mike.

I choose NOW to be nice to her?

And say something so crappy and impersonal when there were a million and one other _nice_ things I could have said?

Damnit.

Hopefully, when this whole thing is over, there'll be plenty of time for more compliments. Maybe even more than that.

_Shit Mike! Focus._

"What do we do?" I ask her instead.

"Get it outside and shoot it open," she replies. Like it's that easy.

I breathe out doubtfully, contemplating; "my aim's been a little screwed up since the whole component thing, Nadia. I might miss and—"

"You'll do great."

I'm assured by her confidence. Misguided faith, but hey, at least she believes in me.

"Ok, cover your mouth," I tell Nadia as I resolutely inch closer to the doors without giving away our position; "this is going to get pretty smoky."

With those words, I toss the canister through the automatic doors, then carefully fire my gun at it as it spins on the asphalt. I get lucky again, striking the base of the extinguisher. _Whaddya know._

BOOM! It explodes filling the air with a thick cloud of white smoke and it starts shooting upward like a mini explosion of baby powder or something. It fills the air in front of the motel and then the shots start; from here they look like firecrackers hitting the ground. It's enough cover though, to creep out of the doors of the motel and press flat against the wall.

"Keep your head down," I instruct her before covering my mouth with my sleeve, "and keep moving."

She nods, looking petrified as she covers her own mouth. Shots rain down on us from above as acrid powder curls upwards, it's going to start dissipating soon and we need to get away from this doorway. I can tell the snipers on the roof know we're around here someplace but can't see us and are just firing aimlessly. Well, if they want to waste their bullets, that's fine.

Nadia and I inch around the wall in amongst the green shrubbery planted there. That's when we hear the sound of shots coming from the east side of the motel, along with angry shouts.

"Jack.." Nadia whispers.

I nod, wincing as a shot clips the ground right in front of us. I don't want any ricocheting bullets to wound us.

Somehow, by some miracle, we make it round to the car park. I still hear shots above, but from here I can see the car. I feel a rising sense of hope that maybe we can make it out of this.

"What do we do now?" Nadia asks me, her voice cracking a little.

"Morris, Chloe?" I listen out for their instructions, but.. nothing.

"Comms is down.." I feel my heart sinking, "my ear piece just flat-lined or something.." I tap my ear experimentally. _Fucking wonderful._

"Shit!" I curse. I don't know the position of any of these guys above us and what if there are more people loose on the ground?

I look into Nadia's worried face. "Listen to me," I say gently, knowing I'm going to have to work on instinct here, "we're just going to have to make a run for it. I need you to go diagonal, ok? In and out of the cars. Keep as low to the ground as possible.." I hand her the car keys and her expression changes.

"Mike.. _no_. What about you?" her voice is imploring, her eyes widen and I can sense a disagreement coming on. This is nor the time or the place for her to be concerned about _me_.

"I'll play moving target," I say simply, trying to ignore the lump in my throat. "No matter _what_ happens, when you get to that car I want you to just drive out of here. No arguments. I'll find you, I swear."

"Mike…" her eyes are fearful.

"Go, now!" with that, I step away from the wall of the motel and dart across the lot in the opposite direction.

Instantly, I feel bullets trained on me from the roof, several bounce right off the ground in front of me and I even think one skims my arm as I duck and just keep running.

I don't look back, trusting that Nadia will have listened to me _for once_ and made it to the car, and I collapse, breathing heavily behind a dumpster.

The shots continue, bouncing off the dumpster lid and sending sparks flying as I put my head in my hands, _shit._ What now? I'm cornered. And I'm running low on bullets. Maybe I should think these things out a little more in future.

Suddenly, inexplicably, there's a crackling in my ear piece and I sit upright with a start. "Agent Doyle?" Chloe's voice is fading but then comes back again. "Can you hear me?"

"Chloe.. I lost you guys, is Nadia safe?" I ask, "bring up the thermal imaging and tell me if she made it to the car.."

"Just a second.."

My heart stills, "is she _safe_?" I demand, urgently.

"She's in the vehicle," Chloe confirms, "and it looks like she just pulled out of the lot."

I breathe out in a whoosh of relief.

"What's happening with you?" Chloe asks, "it looks like all the roof snipers to that side of the building are trained on your location."

"I uh, created a diversion."

"Wow, that was brave. Dumb, but brave."

"Thanks. Is Nadia clear?" _Please let her be clear. Please let her have got away from here._

"She's on the road out of there," Chloe says simply, "we're tracking her car on satellite- on a secure system, don't worry- I built the firewall myself. No one's following her. Looks like your diversion worked."

"Where's Jack?" my mind is spinning and I'm wondering if I can get to him somehow.

"He's on the South side, he shot a couple of guys in the leg and he got their weapons. I'll tell him to head round and help you out."

"Chloe, what the hell's going on?" I ask, "what did you find on these guys?"

"Harper is related to Nina Myers and his group got their chemical weapons from a manufacturing company in Germany," she replies, "long story--- but this whole thing is some kind of vendetta against CTU, finishing off what Nina didn't complete. Needless to say, Nadia had all the Intel on their group and didn't know it, it just needed pulling together. Morris managed to get a ships log from a computer chip and Karen Hayes used her contacts in Frankfurt to link it to a petroleum plant based there. The weapons were shipped from abroad and there's strong links to a militant German based terrorist cell."

A militant terrorist cell? Nina Myers? I shake my head, bewildered. Figures Nadia wouldn't know the _full_ extent of the information she obtained, but I'm guessing Harper's men aren't aware of that. Bottom line is she's still at risk. "How long till the helicopter gets here?" I ask, my mouth dry.

"ETA is four minutes," she reports.

"Thank god." Surely I can hold out _that _long?

Suddenly, something hits me, hard in the shoulder and I fall to the ground. Relief has made me temporarily distracted and I've been hit.

But from close range.

I feel a sudden hot burst of pain spreading right down my arm, and when I look up, the man I now recognise as Geoff Harper is towering above me, his gun pointed directly at my temple.

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**A/N: **Ok, the bit about the CO2 extinguisher? I had a long debate with my boyfriend over it (as he studied chemistry in college) and he concluded that with enough force, that _could_ actually happen. I wanted to blow up something else for them to get out of the hotel to cover them, but couldn't think what else would work.


	23. Chapter 23

**Don't you dare close your eyes...**

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_**Chloe…**_

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"Agent Doyle? Agent Doyle?!" I frantically search the thermal imaging on the screen as the single pop of gunfire ricochets down the Comms headset, making me jump violently. "Oh no- Mr Buchanan, someone _found_ him."

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_**Nadia…**_

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I can't believe I just left him there, in that parking lot and all those men started shooting at him like that. Oh god, what if he's been injured? What if he's dead? What should I do now?

I feel so incredibly sick. He just saved my life and might have lost his own in the process. I can't just leave him there, despite what he said- It's not like me to actually _listen_ to a word he says, after all.

He means too much to me, to let him risk his own ass to save mine.

I violently brake; horns beep in protest from passing cars, but I pay them no attention as I swerve the car around and drive erratically back to the motel.

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_**Morris…**_

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"Nadia just did a U-turn!" I exclaim suddenly, my eyes focusing on the rental car that's being tracked by our satellites that bizarrely comes to a screeching halt and skids across the road, heedless of the oncoming traffic. I watch dumbfounded as she abruptly alters course. "She's heading right back to the motel." I watch the satellite in confusion; "what the bloody hell---?"

"Jesus H Christ!" Bill growls as he throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, and I can tell this day is kind of getting to him; "she's either very brave or _very_ stupid."

"It's neither," Chloe says, desperately trying to raise Mike on his Comms system to find out his status and informing the rest of us what _she's_ presumably known for a long time; "she's in love.."

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_**Doyle…**_

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My eyes narrow as I look up at the dark-haired man towering above me, gun determinedly pointed at my forehead. Holy shit.. he _was_ here after all. Jack was right. I guess his hunches usually _are_ pretty accurate, much as it pains me to admit it.

"Harper.." I growl, clasping my shoulder, putting pressure on the wound, and feeling the blood pooling through my shirt; "you son of a bitch."

"Agent Doyle.." he greets me, a sneer on his face. "Nice to finally meet you at last. You have quite the reputation at CTU of being a bit of a ruthless bastard; it's nice to see you cowering on the floor like that."

Out of habit, I move to my own weapon as Chloe's voice chirps incessantly in my ear, demanding my status. I keep quiet and hope they can pick up on what's going on as I reach out desperately for my gun. However, I'm right handed and my arm doesn't seem to be working properly from where he just shot me, my reflexes are too goddamn slow and my hands are now all sticky with my own blood. To my chagrin, he energetically kicks my gun away and I watch, despondently, as it skitters across the tarmac. _Ok, this is bad._

"Why did you do it, Harper?" I ask. _Try to keep them talking, standard tactic. _

Comms are silent, but I can tell that they're taking in what's being said and Chloe's stopped wittering on in my ear. "I mean, you're going to kill me anyway, you might as well tell me."

"Because I'm growing disillusioned with the American government," he says with another little sneer, "standard terrorist answer, right?"

"What, like your crazy sister did?"

His eyes glint a little at this, but he says nothing. So, me being me, and being so good at it, I decide to goad him a little- hey, it passes the time after all. I'm praying that Field Ops or Jack gets here soon, because I really have no place left to go; "your sister was one loony bitch," I say, trying to rile him up, "I'm guessing she's the _real_ mastermind of the family, right? She had everyone played for fools, only she was better at it than you. Nadia sensed right off _you_ were an asshole."

He glares at me; "if I were _you_, Agent Doyle, I would shut my mouth right now. I'm not in the mood for small talk."

"What, did I get a little close to the truth there?" I ask, sarcastically. "Must be hard, living in your sister's shadow, huh, Harper?"

"I'm warning you to shut your mouth. I won't ask you again."

"You know, even if you pull this off," I begin, "your sister's still going to get the credit for it. The weapons are coming from her contacts and it was _her_ money I'm guessing that funded all this crazy shit. You're nothing but an _accomplice_--- ow!"

He whacks me hard across the side of the face with the butt of his rifle and my lip instantly splits and blood trickles down my jaw. "Are you done?" he demands, "I'm quickly losing patience with you, Agent Doyle."

I contemplate. "_No_. How many more people are there?" I feel a little dizzy from loss of blood to my arm and can taste the metallic flavour of blood on my tongue. I'd like nothing better right now than to go to sleep, but I won't give in.

"Too many," he says simply, raising the weapon to my head again. "You don't know how far this goes. Pity you're going to die and never find out. You're missing out on quite the show- lets just say its going to go with a bang... haha. Shame our transport bombings got stopped, but we have _lots_ more plans on the horizon."

"You know, you're never going to get away with this," I say, sounding a damn sight braver than I feel and puzzled at his cryptic little insight. Presumably more bombs are on the way, let's hope CTU can find out what the hell he means; "You and your little cell are going _down_. We have enough evidence to put you away for a very long time- whatever else you have 'on the horizon' is a no-go, and I'm guessing Jack's already taken out most of your evil henchmen."

"Ah yes, _evidence_," Harper says grimly, an air of dismissal in his tone, "testimony from Nadia Yassir, right?" he leans in close, "not to burst your bubble, Agent Doyle, but as soon as you and Jack Bauer are taken out, we're going after _her_. Without you to play bodyguard she's not going to last five minutes out there."

Anger surges through me at this, and quite unexpectedly, I head-butt him. He staggers backwards a little and I'm pretty sure he's seeing stars as he grips his forehead, muttering something in what sounds like German, but I was never any good at languages.

_"__Scheiße, dass verletzt!" _he curses angrily, or something that _sounds_ like that, anyways.

Good. Apparently I hurt him, if the expression on his face is anything to go by. "Speak English, you son of a bitch!" I hiss.

_Uh oh...too far._

Yeah, I angered a terrorist who quite plainly has the advantage over me in this instance.

_Nice going Mike._ I try and move, but I can't even lift my arm to crawl. _Shit._

Now I'm going to die. If I was a religious man I guess I'd pray, but I'm not, so that's out. All I can do is hope that it's going to be quick.

He raises the gun and points it at my head; "Ich werde den Genuss dieser," he meets my eyes mockingly, _"_Or as you say in America: _I'm going to enjoy this…"_

I close my eyes and think of Nadia.

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_**Nadia…**_

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There's gunfire everywhere as I pull the car back into the lot. I adjust my eyes and swerve as a bullet clips the wing mirror. "Son of a bitch.." I hiss through clenched teeth, ducking as sparks fly, and narrowly miss crashing into a parking bollard. "Shit!"

I am _so_ not cut out for this.

I screech the car to a halt and everything else suddenly pales into comparison when I see, highlighted by the beam of the car headlights, Geoff Harper, pointing his gun.

Not at me.

At Mike's head.

I watch, as if in slow motion, as he slowly pulls the trigger.

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_**Bill…**_

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"No!" I shout as the loud crack of gunfire permeates the stillness that has fallen over CTU.

Did that just happen? I sit down dizzily in my chair as Morris and Chloe gape at the thermal imaging software, their mouths open in disbelief.

"Mike…?" Morris stammers weakly into his headset. "Say something… anything…"

Nothing.

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_**Morris…**_

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The deafening sound of gunfire crackles through Mike's Comms headset loud and clear, revertebrating around the Situation room, as Bill slumps forward in his seat, looking sick. I'm just staring at the thermal imaging software in stunned silence and when I'm finally able to speak all I can do is say his name; "Mike… say something, anything.."

Silence.

"He shot him," Chloe whispers, turning a deathly shade of white as she clutches her stomach, looking ill.

"He _executed_ him," I correct, feeling the back of my neck turning damp. "That was a kill shot."

"Dear god.." Bill mutters, and turns pale as he puts his head in his hands.

We all look up as suddenly through the headset comes the muted sound of more shooting.

"What the hell's going on _now_?" I ask, confused.

"It's Nadia's car..." Chloe mutters, putting her head in her hands and looking up from the satellite. "She can't shoot for shit. She's going to get herself killed, too."

I exchange pensive glances with Bill, hearing loud shouting and more shots. I wish to god we could see properly what's going on.

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_**Nadia…**_

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I raise my gun shakily as I step out of the car. "You bastard.."

Harper turns, and when he sees me stood there, he smirks. "Nadia, so nice of you to join us. Unexpected bonus, or not, actually. How have you been enjoying your little road trip?"

"You shot him!" I scream and I sound a little hysterical, even to my own ears, "he was nothing to do with this, you son of a bitch!"

Mike's not moving, but even from a couple of metres away I can see all the blood pooling on the tarmac and nausea rises in me. _Oh god.._

Harper raises his own gun, and before I even think about it I fire two shots in quick succession. I'm a little out of practice and the first one skims his arm as I start at the forgotten kick-back upon releasing the trigger. The second one I get luckier and catch him right in the ribs. It takes his breath away, and without even thinking about it, I shoot him _again_ in the leg, just below his groin. I was actually aiming for somewhere else, but I'm too distracted by now to shoot properly.

He gasps in surprise, falling to the floor and dropping his gun.

I advance on him, forgetting to be afraid, and I'm so goddamn angry I want to murder the son of a bitch right there. "I'm going to kill you, you bastard.."

I kick his gun out of the way and point my own at his head. I place my finger over the trigger. "Let's see how _you_ like this."

"You don't have the guts."

"Wanna take a bet on that?" I challenge. "Let's see, according to my calculations, I still have a _few_ bullets left, which means…" I contemplate the scenario, and then without any hesitation, fire another bullet into his left knee as he screams out in anguished pain. Let's hope he's unable to walk again for the rest of his life, the sorry son of a bitch.

"Sorry, did I miss? I was actually aiming for here…" then again, I fire at his arm. If I was the kind of person who enjoyed a power trip, I'd probably be relishing this, but now I'm just so mad I can't even see straight.

He's moaning and wriggling around on the floor like some kind of fish on a hook. I lean closer to him and kick him hard in the gut feeling satisfaction that I'm causing him some kind of pain, though it will _never_ be enough for what he's just done to Mike- and am just about to blow his goddamn brains out, when suddenly Mike moves.

I start at seeing his eyes flutter open and look right at me. "Mike?" I whisper, disbelievingly, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Don't--" he chokes out.

"Don't what?" I ask, kneeling down beside him urgently, "oh god, I thought you were dead."

"Don't.. kill him.. need him.." he spits out a little blood and his eyes are rolling in his head, but he's alive. _He's still alive._

"He tried to kill _you_," I point out, rather unnecessarily.

Harper is half crawling and trying to get away, but he's in a lot of pain and can't even stand due to the bullet I administered to his knee. He's not going to get far. I'm not too worried.

"Doesn't matter.. needs to pay.. Need to get rest of them…" Mike gasps. "Jack said---"

"Fine," I don't want to argue with him, not when he's like this. His eyes are flickering a little, kind of like he's fighting to keep them open, and I grasp his hand tightly. "Stay with me," I order, "don't you _dare_ close your eyes."

I skim my eyes over him. He got shot more than once, his shoulder is bleeding and his t-shirt is soaked with blood.

"I'm ok," he chokes out before I can even ask him, like he senses how distressed I am.

"Yes, you are," I state firmly, feeling panic rising in me as I daub at the blood on his face with my sleeve; "and field ops will be here soon. They'll administer you medical attention and get us the hell out of here. We can go home."

"I told you to get out of here.." he mumbles, trying to sound angry but not succeeding, his eyes fluttering shut again, and I can see to my despair that he's lost a lot of blood, more than I first thought. I push down on the bullet wound on his shoulder, trying to stem the flow as I cradle his forehead. I don't know what else to do.

"Yeah? It's a good thing I came back when I _did_, otherwise you'd be a dead man," I retort anxiously, smoothing my left hand down his stubbly jaw.

At this, he smiles weakly as his eyes meet mine.

My god, the man just smiled. He's lying here after being shot and he chooses _now _to smile?

I look up then, hearing the most welcome sound ever- the rotation of helicopter blades from overhead and the rapid pops of gunfire raining down on the lot. "Field Ops are here," I tell him gratefully. "Mike?"

No response.

The car park floods with light from the chopper as I gaze down at his white face in sudden panic.

_He's not breathing…_

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_**Jack…**_

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I'm not sure how much longer I can hold these guys back- I'm running low on bullets, but it seems like they're coming from everywhere at me. From what limited information I heard through the earpiece, I know Doyle's injured somewhere, I only hope Nadia got some place safe.

We need her and her testimony to put these guys away.

Light suddenly fills the parking lot, and I look up, seeing the not unwelcome sight of a black CTU helicopter hovering above the motel. At the disruption, I seek the opportunity to get two more of these guys, and quickly shoot one in the shoulder and another in the arm as they're felled to the ground. It's like some kind of carnival shooting range from up here.

I sigh with relief as the chopper lands right in the centre of the parking lot and wave my hands, indicating my location. Several agents jump out and head toward me, clambering up the ladder at the side of the motel, their weapons trained on the guys on the ground as they quickly take out the remaining assailants. "Get working on them, now!" I bark. "I need to know everything that they know. Use excessive force if necessary. President's orders."

I quickly head left and down the metal staircase, "Chloe, where's Doyle?" I ask, tapping my ear piece. "Is he still by the dumpster? I couldn't get to him, there were too many shooters…"

"Jack.." it's Morris's voice that sounds in my ear, "he's been shot."

"Shit!" I tense at the news, "how bad?"

"Pretty bad," Morris responds sombrely, "Comms went down temporarily and we couldn't help them, so he created a diversion to get Nadia out of there and it worked, the only trouble was, it backed _him_ right into a corner. Nadia came back and shot the guy, we think from what we overheard Doyle say, it was Harper. He _was_ there after all. Your hunch was right, the indication that Nadia was there drew him right out."

"God.." I wince at the severity of the situation, feeling terrible I couldn't get to him- then I see them. Doyle is being loaded onto a stretcher, he doesn't look like he's moving and he's bleeding from a wound in his head, pretty profusely. Nadia is stood, white-faced and shaking, her eyes betraying her anxiety over Doyle. They never leave his face.

I hurry over to them. "Nadia?" I touch her arm.

I can't _believe_ she came back.

She turns and looks at me, but it's like she's not even focusing and she's in some kind of trance. "He shot him," she says brokenly and her eyes fill with tears, "twice. I think he's dying, Jack.."

"They'll get him to a hospital," I tell her assuringly, not knowing what to say, it's pretty clear how devastated she is and nothing I say or do can make this situation any better. I'm pretty sure the two of them have something going on, and her worry over him confirms my suspicions. She looks incredibly distraught and vulnerable all of a sudden. Given my own circumstances with Audrey's illness, I really feel for her. "Where's Harper?" I ask instead, needing to focus on the job.

She points with a trembling hand then climbs shakily into the chopper without a backward glance. Harper is being worked on by medics on the tarmac. He's bleeding pretty hard from a shot on his leg and various other wounds on his body, but even from here I can see he'll live.

But when I'm through with the son of a bitch, he'll wish he hadn't.

Doyle is carefully loaded into the chopper and it lifts up into the air. When the doors shut on Nadia's pale face, I reflect that I never saw anyone look so anxious before. I watch it rapidly leave, then look at Harper grimly.

"Stop with the morphine," I tell the medic who is stupidly about to give him a pain suppressant, "he gets no painkillers, _nothing_, until he tells me what he was planning to do, exactly what his sister's intentions were, and how many more people are involved in this. I want dates, times and the information of that goddamn chemical company where they got their weapons built." With those words, I grab my knife and quickly stab it into his already gaping wound, and twist- hard.

Any kind of pain for this bastard is a bonus.

He cries out in agony, the shrill sound reverberating through the car lot.

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He broke eventually. They usually do in my experience.

Seems like Harper isn't as stoic as his men or even as cold and callous as his sister.

As I twisted the knife deeper in his leg, he choked out the location of his weapons and what he planned to do on that subway system. A harder twist and he's blurting out times, dates and even where he got them from- a manufacturing plant on the outskirts of Frankfurt, just like Morris suspected. He's a babbling, incoherent wreck, but we've got him in custody and he'll not be able to follow through on his nasty little schemes.

Fucking coward breaks down right there in the carpark. Seems he's _not_ willing to die for his cause after all.

"Give him morphine," I tell the medic now, cleaning my knife, "patch him up a little. We need to get him back to CTU and there's no way in hell I want him dying on-route." I lean closer to Harper and glare at him menacingly. "He needs to pay for what he's done."

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**A/N: **Not sure how I feel about this chapter?! I _do_ know I like angry Jack though and Nadia going a bit Annie Oakley.


	24. Chapter 24

**Frail**

**AN: **Apologies this has taken longer to update than usual but I've been so busy. I also had major computer trouble and lost half of the story originally when it turned into squiggly boxes and squares, so I had to re-type. Does anyone know how to rectify that _without_ having to wipe your computer drive? Please PM me if you do! OK, no more excuses. Thanks for reading.

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_**Jack….**_

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"Bill it's Jack. We're on route to CTU now. Harper is sedated and is in a stable enough condition to be interrogated once we get the docs to check him out. The guy has more than a few holes in him. Nadia got a little trigger happy, not that I blame her- this guy is one crazy fucker. Make sure medical are there on arrival, I'm not risking _anything else_ happening to this guy, especially after his sister slipped through our fingers."

Bill sounds a little subdued, and with me being an expert on it, I can detect the underlying guilt in his voice; "ok Jack. How's Agent Doyle? Do you know anything else on his condition?"

"They're air-lifting him to a local hospital," I say regretfully, "he seems in a pretty bad way Bill. I don't think he's going to make it."

"And Nadia?"

"In shock I guess. She's gone in the chopper with him."

"What about Doyle's family?" Bill questions, "do they need to be there?"

I nod grimly, forgetting he can't see me; "I think you should get them here before it's too late."

"I'm on it."

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_**Bill…**_

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"Hello?" the voice that filters down the receiver is sleep-filled and sounds a little annoyed to be disturbed at this ungodly hour.

"Benjamin Doyle? My name is Bill Buchanan, I'm the Director of CTU Los Angeles.." I start, uncertain as to how to continue.

He sounds a little more alert now; "what happened? Did something happen to Mike? What the hell happened to my brother?"

I hear a female voice groggily asking him what's the matter and he impatiently shushes her, "tell me what happened," he says, and I detect the worry in his voice, tinged with anger.

"Mr Doyle, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your brother was injured in a shooting in the early hours of this morning," I say sombrely.

"A—a shooting?" he repeats bleakly, "what the hell..? Is he ok?"

"He's been pretty seriously injured Mr Doyle-" _understatement; _"-I'm sending a chopper to pick you up and take you to him."

"Oh god," he sounds stunned now, "it's bad, isn't it? It must be. Why the hell would you send a chopper otherwise? Oh shit."

I avoid answering the question directly, much as I hate to do so, "your brother is in a hospital in Canada, Mr Doyle," I say, "At Fort St John. He's receiving the best possible care, _that _I can assure you of, and---"

"Canada?" he sounds bewildered, "but he only just got back to Los Angeles last week. What the _fuck _is he doing in Canada?"

"Mr Doyle, whilst I'd like to answer all your questions, I think that the most important thing right now is that you get to your brother. He needs you."

"A chopper is on its way now?" he repeats and I can tell that he's a little overwhelmed by all these new developments and his mind is only just catching up. Join the club, buddy.

"It will be there in—" I look at Morris who mouths an ETA to me as he compiles some data on his system; he's getting the profiles of all the shooters at the motel and their known affiliates; "forty minutes. The medics at the hospital will be able to answer all your questions. Mr Doyle, I'm terribly sorry. I hope Mike will be ok."

He abruptly hangs up and I wince as I listen to the dial tone. That sound, I realise now, has an awful air of finality about it.

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_**Nadia…**_

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He's in surgery. Oh god, I can't believe this. They're working on him now, but the doctors won't tell me anything. Judging by the muted conversation and desperate instructions being called out in there, nothings exactly going well.

I'm stood numbly in the corridor outside the emergency room and can just see what's going on through the slatted blinds at the windows. I can't look away, seeing the urgency and desperation that's ever present in that room. I'm not moving from here until someone kicks me out, and even then they'll have to drag me kicking and screaming. I don't want to leave him.

The chopper flew him here right after the shooting and he's been in that operating theatre for nearly thirty minutes as the surgeons try and extract the bullets from his body and mask the bleeding. It feels like a lifetime.

His heart already stopped beating in the helicopter once, but they managed to re-start it whilst I looked on in horror, feeling sick and afraid and so useless that there was nothing I could do to help him.

I'm too scared to think rationally, all I can focus on is Mike's still body as they work on him, he's lost so much blood. The sheets are stained a sticky red and he has all kinds of tubes and wires sticking out of him. I _know_ that they're there to help him but it scares me even more, seeing him look like this.

_Frail._

They think he's lost too much blood to survive, and that the second bullet's hit one of his main arteries in his head. That was as much as I managed to get out of them before they rushed him in there. The doctors brushed away all my desperate questions and every time a nurse leaves the room, they ignore me. As far as they're concerned, I'm not 'family' and they can't tell me anything. Understandable I guess, but I'm so frustrated.

I feel myself shaking, try and steady myself but its no use as I press against the windows, my stilted breathing fogging the glass. I'm dizzy with fear, my heart feels like its being squeezed in a vice. Cold sweat trickles down my neck.

This is the most afraid I've ever been in my entire life. More afraid than I was back at the motel and I faced Harper, more afraid than I was when Fletcher had me in that room, and more afraid than when I saw Milo shot right in front of me, _because of me,_ and I truly grasped for the first time the evilness that can coarse through some people's veins.

How can I lose Mike now?

I can't.

_I won't._

There's a sudden commotion around his bed as I see one of the doctors step back, looking concerned.

"He's crashing!" I hear nurse exclaim.

"Get a defibrillator," he orders.

_No. God no, please._

"We're losing him!" another doctor shouts urgently.

The monitor starts flat-lining, the green squiggles dipping ominously into one flat, horizontal line as a high pitched whine fills the corridor.

"Code blue! His heart's stopped!"

It's the last thing I hear as someone pulls me away from the window and I think I collapse.

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_**Ben…**_

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That damn agency Mike works for sent a helicopter to pick me up a couple of hours ago. He got shot last night.

_Shot._

It's not the first time this has happened, it's the nature of the job for him to get pretty banged up- he got shot in the leg once, right when he was a rookie agent, and of course there was that whole business with his eyes and its lingering effects, but this sounds a damn sight more serious than that. The guy I spoke to didn't divulge much over the phone but somehow that was worse. He just told me to get here as soon as possible.

My blood chilled at the news and the concerned timbre in his voice.

Sure Mike and I _fight_, brothers do. He annoys the hell out of me sometimes with his sarcasm, dry sense of humour and _more_ than occasionally his arrogance, he always _has_ pissed me off since he followed me around as a kid, but he's my little brother and I love him, y'know?

_Now he might die._

My wife Jane's looking after the kids. Told me to get up here because he needs me. I can't imagine Mike 'needing' anyone, he's so damn self-assured and strong, which makes this whole thing pretty scary.

Shit. How the hell did this happen?

That goddamn job. I _knew_ it would wind up like this. He never should have gone back after last time. He nearly lost his sight then, for crying out loud. It should have been a wake up call. I tried to talk him out of it, but for some frigging reason he seemed pretty dead set on going to LA. _No, not dead. Don't say dead._

I crack my knuckles as the chopper flies down over the hospital, seeing the landing pad and the people waiting on the tarmac below as more desperate thoughts sear through my head.

_Please let him be ok._

_Please don't let my brother die._

A doctor meets me and escorts me to the emergency wing where my brother is, all the time giving me the 4-11 on his condition.

"He's critical," the guy says grimly, "in an induced coma. We had to do it to aleviate the swelling in his brain. By rights he shouldn't even be alive, but for some reason he's hanging on. His heart has been re-started twice and we're concerned that the lack of oxygen reaching his brain might have had some kind of impact on him, possibly severe lasting damage. I'm warning you Mr Doyle, Michael's in bad shape. You might be shocked when you see him."

"Mike," I say unthinkingly, "nobody calls him Michael. What happened? Who the hell shot him? Last time I spoke to him he was heading back to work in Los Angeles and now he's lying in a hospital in Canada fighting for his life.."

"There was some kind of shooting at a motel," the doctor says simply, "that's all I can ascertain. There's a woman who you could maybe speak to who might know more. She just finished up talking to local law enforcement. I think she was there with your brother. She collapsed a little earlier outside the room, but she's refused a sedative. She seems particularly concerned about your brother's welfare."

"A woman?" _What woman? Holy shit, was my brother screwing some broad in a motel? _I gape in disbelief, thinking how uncharacteristic that would be of him. _What the fuck is going on here?_

We round the corridor and then I see her- pressed against the glass, her face ashen, silent tears falling freely down her face, her eyes closed in pain.

I still, seeing how heartbroken she looks and all other thoughts fly out of my mind. She can only be one person.

"Nadia?"

She turns numbly, her eyes focus on me as I take in the fading bruises on her face, a busted lip and the scar on her neck. She looks like hell, but even in these circumstances I can tell she's beautiful. "Ben?" she asks, a little hesitantly.

I cross to her and nod grimly, my eyes taking in the agonised expression on her face. "What happened? Where is he?"

She's crying and speaking at the same time then, and nothing she's saying is making any sense to me. Something about diversions and snipers on a roof, then a dumpster… The only thing I can establish is something she repeats over and over like a self-tortured mantra- "this is all my fault…"

_Oh god, this is bad._

"Can I see him now?" I ask the doctor desperately. I need to find out what's going on for myself.

He nods, "of course."

I turn to Nadia; "are you coming in?"

Her eyes shift from me to the doctor and then back again. "They wouldn't let me see him.." she manages, "because I'm not family.. they wouldn't tell me anything. I don't even know how he is and it's all _my_ fault he's in there."

Right off my stomach twists at how visibly distressed she is, and for the first time I comprehend how much my brother must mean to her. About damn time he found someone to care about him. "It's not your fault," I say simply, "and Mike would want you to be in there."

"He would?" she sounds hopeful yet uncertain all at once, like she doesn't believe what I'm telling her.

"Yes. He would." I'd reiterate, but now is _really_ not the time to divulge my brother's oh-so-obvious feelings for her, much as it might make her feel better.

She takes a deep breath as we slowly enter the room.

Its still, white and disturbingly haunting in there. Mike is hooked up to some kind of machine, a ventilator or something I guess, that's rising up and down with the motion of his chest. Each time the plastic tubes ruffle, the sound of hissing air escapes. That, along with a monotone beeping, is the only sound in the room. Tubes are stuck out of him, his mouth, his nose...

_Jesus, he looks so frail._

Nadia looks like the ground's tilting beneath her as she just looks at him, shell-shocked. "He--what's--"

"He's in an induced coma," I inform her quietly, "the doctors think he has swelling in his brain and they're trying to diminish some of the pressure."

"Oh god," she whispers bleakly.

I've never seen him looking like this before- fragile. Weak. And I'm pretty numb myself. Even after his eye operations he stayed strong and never seemed to let anything get him down, I mean, sure he _brooded _on occaision, but this… it's something else.

It's nothing that he can control. And my brother _is_ something of a control freak, god love him. Mike is usually so resilient, can bounce back from everything and indeed has done so in the past, but not this…

There's a bandage on his head, which is red and stained with blood and part of his head has been shaved and then stitched up, ugly stitches that mar his skin. Another bandage is wound all the way around his shoulder and chest. His skin is all pale and his eyes are taped shut, even as they occaisionally flutter, I guess by reflex. I feel sick with anger that this has happened to him. His blonde hair is all mottled with blood, the only splash of colour against the stark white hospital linen, and suddenly I feel a hot fury bursting up in me that I can't hold back.

"Why?" I shout, turning to face Nadia. "Why the hell did this happen?"

Her mouth is opening and closing but either she can't answer me or she won't. I grab her roughly, hating that I'm taking my anger out on the wrong person but not knowing what else to do, "what the hell happened to him? You say this is _your_ fault- I want to know what happened! Nobody will tell me anything, goddamnit!"

She closes her eyes and when she opens them again, she's looking defeated; "he saved my life."

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_**Nadia…**_

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The way Ben looks at me- it makes me feel physically sick. There's so much resentment and hatred in his eyes all at once, that instantly I'm transported to the way it was back at CTU: when Milo died and his brother, Stuart, came to pick up his things. Told me that Milo loved me. The worst day of my life, seemingly until now.

Words and apologies seemed trite then, nothing would bring Milo back. Nothing would assuage my guilt.

I only hope that isn't the case now and that somehow, Mike will wake up. I close my eyes as Ben grabs my arm in anger. I feel it coming off him in waves as I answer his terse accusation; "he saved my life.."

Ben releases me, defeated and his hands fall limply down by his sides. I see his own eyes are wet with tears all of a sudden. Blue eyes just like Mike's. It's the only similarity between the two brothers as far as I can see. Mike is tall and athletic with his sandy blonde hair. Ben is shorter, nearer to my height and stockier with light brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. Nevertheless, despite the height difference, he is just as strong as imposing as his brother.

"He saved you?" Ben asks slowly, his eyes falling on his brother, something not akin to surprise in the timbre of his voice.

"Not just the once."

Ben sinks down into the chair by the bed as I cross to the window and wrap my arms around myself shakily. The sun is just rising and the sky is shades of orange and pink in the Canadian sky, but I barely notice.

"I uncovered a terrorist cell," I tell Ben quietly, "and the day your brother came back to CTU, a guy from that cell had me locked in a holding room with a knife and gun trained on me, assuming I knew more than I did, Mike managed to get into that room and rescue me."

Ben puts his head in his hands and sighs desperately, as if _knowing_ it was going to be something like this. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

"We knew members of the cell would come after me, so—so we went on the run. Mike was the person who our CTU Director assigned to look after me," I turn back and look at Mike's motionless body; "he protested like hell at first, said he didn't want to _baby-sit _me.."

A wry smile crosses Ben's lips and recognition flickers in his eyes; "sounds like my jack-ass brother.."

"But in the end he did a great job in looking out for me." My lip trembles, "I couldn't have made it through without him, and now he's in here because of me. Because he used himself as a diversion so I could get away from these guys who came after us. He didn't even care about himself. He just told me to go."

Ben runs a hand over his face, in a gesture so similar to Mike's, even though looks-wise they couldn't be more different. "I'm so sorry," I stammer, "I'm so sorry Ben."

Ben is silent and then, to my surprise, he pulls the bedside chair beside him out and gestures for me to come and sit next to him.

"I should go," I say instead, my voice faltering.

"No," he tells me gently, his eyes meeting mine, and the only expression I see there is one of understanding; "you're right where you need to be."

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	25. Chapter 25

**Home truths****…**

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_**Jack…**_

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"Is the suspect ready to be interrogated?" I ask the doctor grimly as he leaves the medical wing. "I mean, has he been made comfortable enough for me to, well.. _hurt him, _I guess?"

He looks at me a little surprised, "Agent Bauer, Geoff Harper has just sustained serious injuries and has multiple gunshot wounds. The morphine is probably the only thing keeping him from passing out with the pain at present. You can't _seriously_ expect me to let you interrogate him in his current condition?"

I fold my arms, unfazed by his bewildered expression, "that's _exactly_ what I expect, Dr Cassidy. This man is a suspect in the failed transportation system bombings, as well as the believed leader in a Los Angeles based terrorist cell. Not to mention he's tried to take down _two_ of our own agents, oh and…"

Each time I drop in another of Harper's crimes, the doctor squirms a little more. Finally he concedes defeat and nods, looking stricken. I always win.

I eye Harper's still form through the window as he's strapped to the gurney in the medical wing. He's not staying in _there_ for much longer, I'm determined he's going to be sat up and be made as uncomfortable as possible within a matter of minutes.

"Ok Agent Bauer, you can _talk_ to him," Cassidy says with a sigh. "But if he becomes distressed in any way, then I need you to take a step back. Alright? I'll be watching you from the monitor with Mr Buchanan and--"

"Yeah, yeah," I agree impatiently, trying to hide my incredulity. _Step back? Is he serious? _Those words just aren't in my vocabulary.

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_**Chloe…**_

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Jack has that familiar glinty look in his eyes again. That one where I know he's about to get all 'torturey' and heavy-handed with a suspect as he consults something on Morris's system. Boy, I wouldn't want to be in Harper's shoes right now for anything.

Morris and I are working on all known affiliates of Harper and Nina Myers and cross-referencing them with people assumed to be in Frankfurt at the same time when they worked there with Fletcher. Needless to say, it's quite a list. Jack's going to be busy for a while. He's pulling up names now that he can throw in Harpers face, no doubt.

Bill is up in his office, pacing as he talks on the telephone to someone, and there is a look of measured concern on his face. I know he called the hospital to check on Agent Doyle's condition- it's been hours now and none of us have heard anything as to his status, other than he was alive, but just barely when Jack saw him go into that chopper. I just hope he and Nadia are going to be ok.

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_**Nadia…**_

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The surgeon's speaking to us, but my brain isn't really processing what he's saying and its like we're moving in slow motion or something. He's telling us the extent of Mike's injuries and I'm having a hard time processing what he's subtly telling us.

Because I basically refuse to accept it.

"Brain damaged?" Ben whispers, finally. His eyes fill with tears of pain, but I can't cry. Not now. I won't accept this. I can't.

"It _is_ a possibility," the surgeon explains gently and I can tell he's well-practiced in the verse of delivering bad news, "the close proximity of the shot meant the bullet lodged in his middle cerebral artery. It's a penetrating injury and part of his skull has been damaged by the blast. We managed to get the bullet out, but as with all brain injuries and such drastic surgery there are risks. If he wakes up there could be problems with his memory, spatial awareness and his behaviour."

My heart lurches; "_if_ he wakes up?"

That was the one thing I didn't want to think about.

"Miss Yassir, we've put Mike into a coma for his own good, to put it quite bluntly: his body needs time to heal. We won't be bringing him out of it at any time soon; he's been through too much. To be quite frank, he might just… _give up_; I need you to be aware of that."

"He—what's going to happen to him?" Ben asks, his voice breaking. His skin is a sickly shade of white, and his brow looks clammy.

"I'm afraid you need to prepare for the worst," the doctor says softly, "even if he lasts the night, there's likely to be severe complications from the shooting. There may be intracranial hemorrhaging, which is bleeding inside the skull and most common after this kind of injury and something we need to keep a look out for. Tomorrow we can start looking at ways of treating him and gauging how his brain is operating by giving him an EEG."

"What?" Ben and I ask at the same time.

"An Electroencephalogram," the doctor explains, "it records electrical impulses produced by any brain activity and measures how his brain function is working."

"He's not going to die," I say firmly, smoothing my fingers over his still palm. "He's a fighter. He'll still be here tomorrow, I know it."

Ben looks at me like I'm reaching, being overly optimistic, but deep down, I know I'm right.

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Three hours later, neither of us has moved from his bedside. "You should eat or drink something," Ben says quietly, his eyes never leaving his brothers face.

"I'm ok."

"You look exhausted."

"I'm ok," I repeat stubbornly. "Besides, you haven't eaten or drank anything either."

He chuckles a little at this; "what?" I ask, not releasing Mike's hand as I turn to face him.

"I can see why you got under my brother's skin so much. You're fiery.. I guess he won't have appreciated someone challenging him all the time this past week. He's not used to people who argue back, especially women."

"I got under his skin?" my face falls a little and I bite my lip.

"In a good way," Ben corrects me, "I could see that _right _off, after his...accident months ago."

"He talked about me?" I ask slowly, a little surprised.

"He didn't have to. When I gave him those CD's you sent him when he was in the hospital, some goofy expression went right across his face."

"It did?" my heart thuds a little more quickly at Ben's statement. _Oh Mike._

"I could see then that he was a gonner," Ben says; "and when I tried to ask him about you he got all defensive and shut up."

"Yeah," I smile a little sadly, "he's like that."

"He's not as big an asshole as he pretends to be," Ben assures me kindly. "Sometimes his bark tends to be worse than his bite, is all."

"I know," I admit, gently stroking Mike's arm, seeing the bruises on his pale skin. "I think I figured that out a while ago. It's just… he never lets anyone in, you know? I've tried my best to get him to open up to me, and well, I thought he hated me or something. We spend to seem most of our time arguing… and now this."

"He's spent most of his life evading relationships," Ben confides, "our parents got divorced when we were kids, which messed him up pretty bad. He went off the rails for a while- well, we both did actually. Our dad walked out on us and we haven't seen him since. Mike prefers to throw himself into work, I think it's because he likes to be in control. It's a necessity with him. In a relationship I think he'd be scared of his _feelings_ leading him. He never lets his guard down." He smiled at me softly, "well, not up until now anyways."

I look at Ben, remembering something Milo told me months ago. "What happened in Denver? Why did he and Milo not get along so well?"

Ben shifts in the chair, looking unsure as to whether to tell me or not. "Um, there was a professional altercation between them, I guess that's what you could call it, considering they actually used to be friends," he sighs and bites his nail; "Milo really didn't approve of the force Mike sometimes used to use to get suspects to break.." he frowns a little at this like he's not really sure either; "once Mike went too far- with an Israeli guy, three or four years back. It was a pretty serious situation- the guy was accused of kidnapping a US senator and his family and using the senator's political influence as a bargaining tool in order to release Israeli terrorist suspects that were held in Guantanamo Bay. Mike was kind of desperate for results I guess. There were kids involved- young kids. One of them had been shot to prove a point. Mike was furious but he went too far."

"Did he..?" I swallow; "was the suspect.. _hurt_?" I want to say 'killed' but for some reason can't even comprehend Mike could do that, even if he was under pressure and seeking some kind of revenge. I know there was a major incident in Denver in his personnel file, but the details are kind of glossed over.

With a pang I remember the time I accused him of _enjoying_ hurting people, making reference like I was aware of something about him when I didn't even know the half of it. I was just so steamed and humiliated that people thought _I _was a traitor and could commit treason. How could I think _that_ about Mike? That he got off on pain? Look how he's looked out for me this past week…

Tears brim in my eyes at the memory. He looked so hurt that day, so upset that I'd accused him of such a thing, much as he tried to mask it. I'd give anything to take that back, but now I may never get the chance. _No. Stop it. Stop thinking like that!_

"No. The person was ok, thankfully. Mike wanted answers and the whole choke-hold thing wasn't working, so he injected him with scopolamine and he had some kind of reaction to it, his heart stopped beating for a couple of minutes. They managed to resuscitate him though. I think the whole episode kind of freaked Mike out a little. He backed right away from the interrogation thing for a while.. I think he was scared of going overboard again and really losing control. Milo made some snide comments about it- maybe a few home truths that kind of hurt him, and from what I remember I think that was kind of the end of their friendship."

"Oh," I whisper, my voice faltering, stroking Mike's hair.

"You love him, don't you?" Ben asks me clearly.

I just look at him, and I can tell that by the expression on his face that he already knows the answer.

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_**Jack…**_

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Harper is cuffed to the chair in the interrogation room, flanked by two burly Field Ops guys. He's wincing like he's in a little pain, as I eye him speculatively and kick out the chair opposite him, sitting myself down.

"Say Harper, you look a little uncomfortable there, I hope those wounds aren't troubling you too much."

He grunts at me looking belligerent, but doesn't comment.

I fold my arms. "Nadia certainly had fun playing target practice with you. For her it was clearly some kind of retribution for you taking down one of our best agents- someone she cares about," I narrow my eyes, assessing him. "So _I'm_ making this personal too. I figure I might as well."

He lifts his head and I see the glint of fear in his eyes at my somewhat blasé attitude, "w—what?"

"Your sister," I say curtly, "your unhinged sister. I finished her off, but I didn't make it hurt enough for what she did to me and my family." Anger flares in his eyes at the mention of Nina.

I nod at the Field Ops guys who take this as their cue to leave. They do so, and I see Harper flinch as I push back my chair and stand up, towering above him.

"Your sister," I repeat almost softly now, "killed my wife. She terrorised my daughter. People I loved and cared about died or were messed up _because of her_. When I killed her, I wanted to make it _hurt_ but as far as I'm concerned, she never suffered enough for her crimes-she got off easy," I smile with satisfaction at the evident look of terror that flashes across his face then, "…but with you its like I finally get a second chance to right all the wrongs."

Ashen, he looks down, struggles a little in the cuffs as I step even closer.

"So tell me, Harper," I say coaxingly, "you seemed pretty eager to talk in the parking lot when I had a knife in your leg and was ripping through your tendons—I want you to tell me everything."

He shakes his head mutinously, jamming his lips together.

"No?" I sneer, "you know, your men are a lot braver than you are. Fletcher by the way, to cite an example- he's been a pretty good ally of yours. It took a lot to break him. You chose well there. His dedication to your cause is almost commendable, but I guess the allure of enough money can do that to a person. Hell, I'd even admire his resilience- if you all weren't such fucking psychopaths."

He shifts in his chair, as I lean over right in his face, taunting him. He flinches even further. I guess home truths can be hard to take sometimes, though _I_ know that better than anybody.

"You know what? Even your _sister_ was more dedicated to your pathetic cause than you are. She was willing to sacrifice herself for it. You have other people to do your dirty work, feeble really. Cowardice. So tell me, why the transportation system? Why was _that _your first target? Was it all about promoting as much panic as possible in Los Angeles? How long have you been planning this? Did you _start_ your little group at CTU Frankfurt?"

Each time I ask a question, my voice is getting louder and louder. He inches away from me, still silent, though sweat is beading on his brow and I smile inwardly with satisfaction as I punch him hard in the face, and feel his nose crumple like paper under my fist.

Oh yeah. Payback can be a bitch.

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_**Bill…**_

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"How's Agent Doyle?" Jack asks grimly, as he leaves the interrogation room, rubbing his swollen fist, little spatters of blood staining his shirt and Dr Cassidy hurries in there, looking concerned. I near as damn it had to hold him back to stop him from racing in there when Jack got a little… agitated but luckily he managed to get a little more intel from Harper right after he broke his nose, and Division are on it. "Have we heard anything?" He meets my eyes and stills at my expression.

"I just spoke to the doctors at Fort St John. He's in a controlled coma," I say regretfully, "one of the bullets pierced his temporal lobe. Even if he wakes up there's no knowing what he'll be like."

"Christ," Jack's face is white.

"His brother's with him now," I tell him, as Chloe and Morris join us carrying a thick stack of folders, they're on their way to a de-briefing with Division, "and Nadia's there too. The doctor's told me they're devastated."

"What does that mean, a 'controlled coma?'" Morris asks, "I mean, will he wake up?"

"They're not holding out much hope," I admit grimly, my stomach sinking even as I speak at the realisation that after everything he's done, Mike Doyle might die; "and even if he _does_, that part of his brain might be damaged. It controls memory, speech and vision. They're keeping him unconscious to give his brain a chance to rest and for the swelling to go down."

"So, he might never be normal again?" Chloe asks, looking pensive. There's no bluntness in her speech or anything, she just sounds shocked. Like we all are.

"No," I say quietly, half to myself, "he might never be normal again."

"Nadia's going to blame herself," Chloe mutters, as Morris squeezes her hand. "Because he did it to save her."

"She already _was _blaming herself," Jack adds, "when I left there. She looked completely shell-shocked."

I slip away and in the shadowy confines of my office, I bite back my own guilt, and then dial my wife.

She answers on the first ring like she's been waiting for my call. I briefly spoke to her a couple of hours ago to let her know we had the main suspects in custody, but we didn't get much of a chance to elaborate on the circumstances surrounding it. "Karen Hayes."

"Sweetheart, it's me," to my horror my voice cracks.

"Bill.." her voice is concerned, she knows right off that something's not right; "honey, are you ok?"

"Agent Doyle—he might be brain damaged," my voice breaks a little, "Karen, it's all my fault."

"What happened?" she sounds shocked, justifiably so. The last time we spoke she was elated we had the main suspect in custody.

"He got shot—in his temporal lobe.. he was trying to protect Nadia in the parking lot. Harper shot him."

"Oh god," she responds, and I can tell she is trying to process the information in her usual analytical way.

"It's my fault for letting them get found in that way—"

"Stop saying that Bill!" she orders me, but her voice isn't unkind, "honey, you have done everything you could to protect Nadia and Doyle the past week and you know it. There was nothing else you could have done. You _had_ to draw the terrorists to them, and by doing what you did, you got them. Even the President agrees with your decision and it's because of _that_ that we have the suspects in custody."

I close my eyes wearily; "I'm resigning."

"What?" she sounds shocked.

"After this day is over, I'm resigning," I say simply, "it's too hard, Karen. I should have resigned six months ago. I _need_ to be with you. I'm moving to Washington."

She doesn't argue with me, and I hadn't expected her to. My wife knows when my mind's made up.

"Bill?"

"Yes?"

"I love you sweetheart," her voice catches a little; "I'm coming on the next plane out there, ok? I can't be away from you any longer and I don't want you facing this whole thing on your own anymore."

"I love you, too," relief floods me at her decision- I hadn't wanted to ask but thank _Christ_ she's on her way; "I'll see you soon honey."

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	26. Chapter 26

**Tell me about him..**

**A/N: **Nadia learns a little more about Doyle and Karen heads back to LA. Rather long chapter. Sorry. Only a couple more to go after this one…

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_**Ben…**_

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When I was younger, Mike always used to try and tag along with me and my friends in some misguided hero worship. He followed me everywhere. _I_ thought he was the proverbial pain in the ass, being three years younger than us, but my friends all thought he was cool, because being so small (and blonde and angelic looking) he could get away with being cute and innocent and therefore could provide a welcome distraction to shop keepers whilst the rest of us stole candies from the 7-11.

Child exploitation I know, taking advantage of a pre-pubescent kid, pre growth-spurt.

We didn't even share any of the candies with him afterward, so he went wailing home to mom, god rest her soul, and I got grounded for a month.

After that I had to let him in on the candy pilfering.

I just finished telling Nadia that story, and for a second it makes her smile, then she goes back to being all sad again.

She hasn't let go of Mike's hand once, the whole time she's been sat by his bed. Nearly five days now. Sure, she goes back to the motel to shower and change, or she's speaking to CTU and finding out what she can about the case- but then she's right back here again. She even sleeps here sometimes. We started doing it in alternating shifts overnight, so that one of us is always here with him. I get the impression that when I'm not here she sits and talks to him, even caught the tale-end of a conversation once, but she got all embarrassed and shut up really abruptly, and I didn't even hear what she was saying. I just know she doesn't want him to be by himself when he wakes up.

_If he wakes up. No. Stop thinking like that._

Sometimes we talk too, about Mike mostly; she's not exactly forthcoming in divulging information about herself, as her entire attention is focused on him. But more often than not we're silent, just watching him and waiting for him to wake up.

The doctors have ran some tests, said his brain appears to be functioning as well as expected given the circumstances, but then they started talking about PVS- permanent vegetative state, and paralysis which might be a consequence of the shooting if he_ does_ open his eyes. I kind of switched off at that point, and Nadia didn't want to listen to it either. They took him off the ventilator though, and he's finally breathing on his own unaided, which is a million times better than what it was, even if he still does have all kinds of tubes poking out of him.

She's blaming herself for the whole thing, even though it's not her fault at all. Looking at her, I know exactly why Mike wanted to protect her, keep her safe. He didn't want to talk about her after she got him all those CDs, probably because his face would have given him away.

This sucks, I need him to wake up and see her, to maybe get one real shot at happiness for the first time in his whole, work-obsessed life.

"What does his tattoo mean?" Nadia asks suddenly and I focus my attention on her, surprised.

"His tattoo?" a little smile creeps onto my face at this unexpected realisation. "You saw his tattoo?"

"A glimpse of it," she admits, a dark flush on her face, obviously remembering its position on my brothers body. _Interesting, maybe they were getting it on in that motel after all…_ "What is it?"

"It's a SEAL Trident," I tell her, "Mike got it as a drunken dare when he was in the navy."

"Oh," her brown eyes widen a little at this new-found knowledge of my brother; "I never knew he was a Navy SEAL," her face saddens, "then again, I guess there's a lot I don't know about him."

"He's not exactly forthcoming with anyone," I concede, because I don't want her to feel bad. "He joined up right after college. He totally loved it. One night before he left, he and some buddies went out and got the matching tatts. He had to get totally smashed beforehand because he's got a serious phobia of needles. They were smart and got theirs on their _arms_, he thought he'd be daring and get it inked onto his pelvis. The boniest part of the body. What a dumb-ass!"

A little smile tugs at her lips, I feel gratified that just by telling her mundane stuff about my brother I can make her smile; "Yeah, I can see the SEALS appealing to him. How come he left?" she asks after a couple of moments.

"CTU Denver recruited him after about five years. He was already a ranking officer in the SEALS. They were impressed with his counter-espionage operations and the clandestine missions he'd been on."

"That makes sense."

"Me and my mom tried to talk him out of it," I say with a sigh, "we didn't want him to join CTU because of what little we knew about it, but once Mike has his heart set on something.." I sigh reluctantly, "well, he's like a damn python after a mouse."

She nods, and finally its like we're on the same page. "Tell me about him," she says simply. "I mean, when he's not working, what does he _do_? I tried asking him questions about himself and he just kind of looked at me like I was crazy for wanting to know about him. I get the impression he's not big into opening up with people."

"He goes running," I venture, nodding in agreement at her astute statement, "plays a lot of sport. He swims, plays basketball. He likes really loud rock music- we're talking ear splitting decibel- and going to the movies. Oh, and he likes Italian food, though he can't cook for shit himself. He's the only person I know who burns pasta. He plays a mean game of darts, or at least he _did_, before his eyes got screwed up. His pet peeve is telemarketers and he's scared shitless of spiders. I used to put them in his bed to freak him out when we were kids."

She's stroking his hand again and watching his face intently for any kind of movement but I see a small smile creep onto her lips as I divulge a whole bunch of stuff she never knew about my brother. I only hope he gets the chance to tell her all this himself. "You guys are pretty different but I get the impression you're really close."

"We are," I admit, "now, anyway. He used to drive me _insane_ when we were kids. He had this really annoying habit of shadowing every single word I said- and now he's taught it to my kids too, just to piss me and my wife off. He could keep it up for _hours_. He hates to back down first."

"Yeah, I noticed," she says almost dryly. "We fought a lot this week. I feel terrible about it now."

"He probably does too," I clarify, "he's just pretty good at not showing his true feelings, is all."

"_Did_ he like those CD's I sent him? I know you said he did, but he never mentioned them to me.."

"He wore them out playing them," I grin. "The nurses yelled at him in the hospital because he constantly had them on repeat."

"Yeah?" she looks briefly happy at this news.

"Yes."

"Good.."

Both of us lapse into a familiar silence.

24242424242424

_**Karen…**_

24242424242424

"You can't resign!" I protest for about the millionth time and I'm getting highly stressed over my failure to win this ongoing argument. "Bill, CTU needs you."

He's looking unhappy as he paces in his office, practically causing a trench to form in the ugly tiles. "I _should_ have quit after Valencia. I only hung onto this job by the skin of my teeth because of President Palmer waking up and reinstating me."

"Bill, you're damn good at your job," I protest vehemently, placing my hand on his arm. "Honey, I know that this has got to you, and you feel guilty because Agent Doyle's been hurt and you feel Nadia's been placed at risk, but it isn't your fault."

"It happened under _my_ command," Bill states in his usual blunt fashion, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Damn it! It's so much worse when one of your own team gets hurt or put at risk. I still have goddamn nightmares about Michelle and Tony and even Jack in China--"

"Nadia and Doyle were in _Canada_!" I point out, soothingly as he sits down at his desk, "you didn't have full control of the situation. Even Jack agrees with me."

"He does?" Bill looks a bit more hopeful and I realise that I've said the right thing at last. "You know, if I _was_ to stick around here, I'd want Jack back on board. Do you think he'd agree to maybe come back and head up Field Ops again? I mean, I know he's been through a lot and I doubt Division would be too happy but---"

I break into a little smile seeing his mood wavering, "I think he'd certainly consider it."

Bill smiles, the first time I've seen him do so since I got back to LA a couple of days ago, I mean _aside_ from when he met me at the airport and broke into the kind of happy-to-see-me smile that made my heart melt. "It wouldn't be the old team back in its entirety," he ponders thoughtfully, "but you gotta admit that Jack working alongside Chloe _does_ have its merits, and—"

I cut him off with a soft kiss and he buries his face in my shoulders with a thankful sigh; "Bill. I think that's a wonderful idea."

242424242424242424

_**Morris…**_

242424242424242424

So yeah, Mike Doyle _can_ be a bit of a pain in the ass at times. He doesn't think before he speaks, he's downright rude to anyone lower down the CTU food chain than he is, and he can be kind of abrupt, not to _mention_ he thinks more with his fists than his brain on occasion. The term "workaholic" springs to mind, along with "arrogant son of a bitch."

But he saved Nadia's life at a potentially detrimental cost to his own, no damn hesitation.

That takes guts.

I admire him for that.

My eyes slide to Chloe, who's helping Jack out with some kind of data streaming on her system as they compile all the dossiers together on Harper and his little terrorist friends: bank statements have been found in abundance, tracing the remainder of Nina Myers "estate" and all money left in her will to a security deposit box in a bank in Erlensee, a town near Frankfurt- the town where Harper grew up and where a lot of the guys Jack has in custody resided. Convenient, no? CTU Frankfurt raided the box and found a ton of fake passports, schematics and blueprints for intended targets in the US, most of which appears to have been planned by Nina, the crazy bitch. Causing havoc even though she's rotting in hell. The dots have been joined up pretty quickly in recent days, Jack's been so excited I think he might have even smiled yesterday. He hasn't said 'dammnit' in at _least_ five hours, which makes _me_ feel a little less antsy.

I meet Chloe's eyes and she smiles warmly at me, before going back to my work, and I feel my own face break into a smile.

I know that if _I'd_ have been in Doyle's position and it had been _Chloe_ at risk in that hotel, I'd have done exactly the same thing he did.

I guess maybe Doyle loves Nadia or something too.

24242424242424

_**Ben…**_

24242424242424

I'm reading some local crappy newspaper- the highlight of the news round here seems to be the theft of the local high schools sports mascot; breaking bulletin: Cliff the Caribou has been _kidnapped_- and Nadia's sat half asleep by Mike's bed, still holding his hand, when all of a sudden she sits bolt upright.

"Ben, he moved," she says and her eyes are brighter than I've seen all week.

"The doctor told us that could happen, remember?" I say gently as I set down the newspaper, not wanting to hurt her feelings, "it's probably an involuntary reflex or muscle spasm."

"No," she says firmly, "he squeezed my hand."

"He did?"

I look down at his still hand, entwined with hers and she can see the doubt etched on my face.

"He moved," she insists again, with a stubbornness I've gotten used to these past few days, "I felt a definite pressure on my hand."

This time, I notice it too. His hand moves- very slightly, and his fingers clench around hers. "He's awake.." I say, relief filling my chest, "he's coming round.."

Nadia's eyes never leave his face, as I quickly press the call button for the doctor.

"Mike.." she says softly, hopefully. "It's Ben and Nadia, can you hear us?"

His fingers move again and he moves his head very slightly in the direction of her voice.

"Mike," I say with a grin, exchanging a joyous glance with Nadia, "dude.. wake up.."

2424242424242424

_**Nadia…**_

24242424242424

"Mike?" Ben says eagerly as his fingers move again, "dude, wake up.."

Mike stirs sleepily.

Then he does. Just like that.

He opens his eyes and looks completely confused and disorientated.

He blinks a couple of times as if trying to clear a fog.

"Mike?" I ask hopefully.

He focuses on me and Ben and then takes in his surroundings, squinting like he has a bad head or something. He looks pale and shaky.

"Mike?" Ben sounds worried, "little brother, you're in the hospital… can you hear us?"

A half-smile crosses Mike's face and all the confusion vanishes.

"Concordia University," he says softly, almost triumphantly, as his eyes meet mine unblinkingly, "majoring in Behavioural Sciences..."

"_What_?" I look at him searchingly as my mouth drops open in bewilderment, then over at Ben appraisingly, who is watching him with now evident concern, his eyes hooded.

Dear God, he's lost his mind. He was seriously injured in that blast and his first words are about a college? Although frankly I'm amazed he's even speaking at all. It's more than any of the doctors predicted. Holy shit…Maybe he's regressed backwards or something. Amnesia.. Brain injuries.. oh god.

_What if he thinks he's stuck back in 1989 or something?_

He wets his lips and then looks at me a little impatiently as the doctor barrels into the room and stops short seeing Mike wide awake. "Your stupid pointless questions in the car," Mike ventures, his voice a little scratchy, I guess from the ventilator tube that was in his throat before. "I never answered what I studied in college because I was being an asshole.."

My eyes well with tears, even as what I'm sure is the hugest smile ever crosses my face at the realisation that he's not lost his mind after all. _And_ he remembers that he was being an asshole. "You remember what we were talking about?"

"Yes. I remember."

"Mr Doyle," the doctor steps forward looking stunned, "you've been in a coma for nearly five days. You got shot. The bullet wedged in your temporal lobe. Can you remember anything?"

"A coma?" he looks disbelieving as he meets Ben's eyes, who nods sombrely. "_Seriously_?" his eyes meet mine then and he squints at me quizzically again. "I was in a parking lot…" he remembers, light dawning in his blue eyes.

He tries to sit up suddenly, only half-succeeding because he's so weak. "Harper!" he says, eyes wide. "Did you get him? He said that there'd be more attempted attacks and---"

Ok, I guess that answers the question of memory, and also the issue of movement. My jaw drops incredulously. He seems… _fine_.

Is he like the Bionic Man or something?

"Whoa, easy there little brother," Ben pushes him back down gently, cutting him off, "they got the guy who did it. Nadia shot him, a whole bunch of times, he's looking kind of like a sieve right about now. Your boss has everyone in custody in LA. They've got some guy called Bauer interrogating the hell out of them and most of them have cracked. They've found links to a German militant group called the.. _Todesmiliz_?" he looks over at me for clarification and I nod.

_Death army. _Seems Nina was pretty fucked up to fund something so screwy. Fucked up, but not exactly surprising- I mean she was insane after all.

Mike's brow crinkles a little as he studies me and lets the information sink in, "you were going to kill him.." he says, his eyes searching but his voice isn't judgemental and I never expected it to be.

"I was," I confirm gently, "until you stopped me."

He looks kind of gratified by this, like he's surprised I listened to him at all, "you're not as bad a shot as I thought you'd be."

"Gee, thanks," I say with a wry smile. He can insult me as much as he wants now, I'm just so, so glad he's awake.

The doctor is looking amazed. "Mr Doyle.. what you've been through, by rights you _should_ be brain damaged," he says, his mouth gaping a little, "it's almost unheard of for someone with your kind of injuries to simply wake up like this and be.. normal. You sustained a massive trauma to your skull and---"

"He's pretty hard-headed," Ben interjects with a smile, his own eyes watery. "I'm surprised the bullets didn't bounce off of him. And doc? My brother was never 'normal' to start with."

Mike shoots a dark look at his brother but I see the amusement dancing in his blue eyes and it surprises me. I guess up until this point I'd never considered that Mike might actually have a sense of humour; I've been so used to his moods and sarcasm. Interacting with Ben, I see how he _would_ be in normal, every day circumstances, which is something _we've_ not had the chance to experience.

"How do you feel in yourself, Mr Doyle?" the doctor demands, shining a torch light in Mike's eyes now, as he blinks a little at the bright light and rubs his temples.

"Achy head, tired… achy head some more," Mike thinks hard for a while. "Hungry…" an almost mischievous smile pulls on his lips now and I feel my heart lift at the sight. I could _definitely_ get used to that smile.

"Anything else?" the doctor questions. "How's your vision?"

"I feel kind of woozy. A little like I'm hungover I guess, but my eyes weren't so great anyway," he says honestly. "And my arm's aching.." he looks down at the bandages swathing his body; "man.. I look like I've been through the wringer."

_Understatement, _I think as I feel tears pricking my eyelids.

"We're going to need to run further tests on you," the doctor says, consulting a chart and taking Mike's blood pressure, "but Mr Doyle, I have to tell you that this is completely unprecedented.. we- and by _we_- I mean myself and the other doctors- never thought you'd last the night, least of all be sat up and engaging in conversation."

Mike is rubbing his eyes a little wearily and looking completely worn out all of a sudden. "Yeah?"

"Yes." The surgeon casts a warning look at me and Ben, "His blood pressure is slightly alleviated- BP is 139 over 89… though that's hardly surprising given the circumstances. Just five more minutes with him," he urges us, "then you let him sleep, alright?"

"I just woke up from the longest sleep of my life," Mike says in a voice that's borderline whining as the doctor pulls away the sphyg and puts it in his pocket, "_seriously_.."

"You need to rest," the doctor states simply in a voice that warrants no further discussion. "Five minutes. I'll be running some more tests on you later, so you need to keep your strength up."

"But---"

"Ok," Ben agrees amiably and the doctor is appeased and leaves, still looking baffled.

Mike scowls a little at his departing back, and then turns to face his brother. "Was I really out of it for that long? This isn't some kind of April fools joke is it?" he demands uncertainly, looking marginally freaked out now.

"Aside from the fact it's January, Mike, no," Ben says with a little grin. "What makes you think this could be a joke? You nearly died."

"You once re-programmed all the clocks in my house so I nearly missed my mid-terms," he says flatly, "it could have been a similar prank," his eyes meet mine again and his expression softens to one I've never seen on his face before and I just can't read it, "are you ok? Harper didn't hurt you, did he? You came back and--"

"I'm fine," I say softly.

He looks down and sees I'm holding his hand, which I don't even think I let go of while the doctor was checking him over, and I blush and go to pull away, feeling exposed and embarrassed all of a sudden. "No," he says, tugging my hand back, "Leave it. I-- I like it there." He virtually stammers out this last part and his ears turn pink again.

"You're going to totally milk this for all it's worth," Ben groans in exasperation, alleviating the tension; "I can see it now, nurses at your beck and call, doctors answering to your every whim, it's going to be like Aladdin and the genie with you and that freakin' call button..."

I barely hear him goofing around; I'm just looking down at Mike's hand whose fingers have suddenly twined with mine in a much stronger hold. His thumb is smoothing over the back of my hand softly. "I'm sorry I gave you guys a scare," he says, his blue eyes searching my face, a pink hue in his cheeks too.

He's speaking to both of us, but when I look in his eyes I read a silent apology that's meant for me alone.

_I'm sorry I hurt you, _is what he really means.

"Have you been here the whole time?" he asks, his voice faltering.

Both of us nod and then the expression in his eyes is unreadable. Kind of gratified and embarrassed and surprised, all at once. I'm instantly transported to that day at CTU, all those months ago when I told him to "be careful" right before he left to go out into the field. Once again I feel that I should be saying _more_ to him but sometimes words just aren't adequate enough to convey your true feelings. He gets it though, I'm pretty sure he does, from the way his eyes intently search my face.

"I should go," I venture after a couple of moments of silence, "let you have some time with your brother before your five minutes is up. I need to call CTU and let Bill and Jack know you're ok. Everyone's been worried- they might have more of an update on the _Todesmiliz, _I know Karen Hayes was working with CTU Frankfurt and Morris was tracing transactions in bank accounts…" gently I tug my hand away as an expression not akin to disappointment crosses his face.

"I'll stop by later," I promise, "in a couple of hours, ok? But the doctor's right: you need to sleep, and then they'll need to check you out."

He nods, biting his lip. I get the impression there's more he wants to say too, only maybe with his brother there, he feels he can't.

"Ben, I'll wait for you outside, ok?"

"No worries," Ben says easily.

With one last little smile for Mike, I head out and close the door quietly after me. I sit in one of the uncomfortable plastic bucket chairs and then it's like a dam has burst and I'm crying silently- relief, pain, worry.. all intermingled into one. I'm just so glad he's ok.

24242424242424242424

_**Doyle…**_

24242424242424242424

I watch Nadia quietly leave the room and my head's spinning. I cannot believe I've been lying in this hospital bed for five days, totally out of it. It's unbelievable, I mean, surely I'd remember something? My last memory is of Nadia cradling me in the car park, and then I just woke up and I'm here and Ben is looking at me like he's seen a ghost, Nadia's holding my hand and I'm hearing all kinds of stuff about death armies and bullets in my head.

Totally freakin' bizarre. You hear about all these near-death experiences, with angels and harps and shit. They're always on the news or on those crappy tv documentaries where people recollect floating towards some kind of bright light…

None of that.

I just woke up.

I was in a goddamn coma. And I'm fine. Better than fine. I feel… terrific. Like I've been swimming underwater but now I've surfaced and can breathe properly again.

"You ok, little brother?" Ben asks, worriedly, staring at me and I realise I've drifted away on my own thoughts and blink back to the present.

"Is Nadia _really_ ok?" I ask him, by way of answer.

He smiles, "she is now."

"She's really been here the whole time?" I ask, almost hopefully.

"She left your bedside to pee and shower," he informs me with a little grin, "I don't even think she ate anything."

"She needs to eat," I say with a frown, my mind processing this information and storing it for later, "get her a pizza or something when you leave here, alright? She never eats enough."

"You care about her, a lot, don't you?" Ben asks with a knowing smile. "I knew you did."

Damnit, I feel my ears turning red again, but to my surprise, Ben doesn't make fun of me or tease me the way he usually would. "She's ok," I reply evasively.

"Mike, she's better than 'ok' and you know it," he remarks, "god, I never saw anyone as concerned as she was over you. She's been frantic this whole time.. she's really special. You should take care of her.."

"I doubt she'll have me," I admit gloomily as memories of what happened in that motel room painfully come flooding back, "not now. I kind of stuffed everything up already." I don't elaborate, even with Ben. What went on with Nadia and me is _private_. I yawn suddenly. "Aw man, how can I _possibly_ be tired?"

Ben grins and ruffles my hair, careful not to touch the bandaged side of my head which no doubt looks pretty hideous. "You sleep a while before the docs start poking and prodding you, ok? And don't bitch like a little girl at all the needles, ok? I'll swing by and see you a little later on."

I think I nod, but my eyes are already closed.

2424242424242424

**A/N:** Chipsnopotatoes- hopefully this fulfilled your 'I'm missing Doyle in this story' quota??!


	27. Chapter 27

**Heart to heart**

24242424242424

_**Nadia..**_

24242424242424

I just finished eating about a million doughnuts and I'm stuffed. Ben and I are sat in a Tim Horton's off the highway a couple of kilometres from the hospital, and according to him he was under strict instructions from Mike, to feed me.

Typical. 

It's a guy thing to always get their own way, like I said before.

But I don't care, because my appetite's back, and tonight, knowing that everything's ok again, I just might sleep decently for the first time in weeks.

I called Bill from the hospital. He sounded a million times better than he did the last time I spoke to him, even more so when he found out Mike was conscious and coherent. I guess he was feeling guilty or something, I sure know what _that's_ like. Karen's with him and he admitted that he was thinking of quitting CTU altogether, which I was totally staggered by. Without Bill Buchanan, there _is _no CTU. Thankfully, Karen managed to talk him out of it. Also, he revealed that if Division give the heads up, that Jack is going to be reinstated at CTU permanently.

I also called Chloe and Morris, they were glad that Mike had woken up and was ok. Morris even said that I _had_ to tell Mike to "get his ass back to LA soon" because he's being "henpecked by a 'hormonal' Chloe", "browbeaten by Jack" and is feeling "'sickened' by the displays of affection from Bill and Karen." Though I don't think I'll word it _quite_ like that.

Chloe forms me that Jack's been busy with the interrogations and got Harper to spill all the members of his and his sister's militant group- they now have definite conclusive proof that Nina Myers was funding the death army. She'd been planning it for years, even before she was recruited to CTU, which goes to prove how crazy she actually was. Bank statements, safety deposit boxes and property listings in Germany to name but a few kinds of evidence have all been gathered, along with some of _my_ reports on the breaching of clearance at CTU by Fletcher, which have apparently proved pretty useful. Go figure.

Chloe thinks Jack's kind of glad to be back, actually- getting down to business and arranging tac teams to head out after the few remaining suspects still on the loose in the LA area and liaising with CTU Frankfurt and the German Embassy. Harper and Fletcher might be extradited for their crimes, but that's still kind of up in the air at the moment. Jack's been trying to cut them a plea bargain- if they give up everyone else and testify, they won't have to leave the US but they're bound to get a rough ride in prison and Jack's been making noises about the notorious Pelican Bay State Prison. Morris told me that Jack freaked them out a little by talking about them being incarcerated with rapists and murderers and they don't know _what_ the hell to do. I think he kind of likes messing with their heads.

_I_ still have to be de-briefed and statements taken, but as the main suspects are all now in custody and Jack managed to beat a confession from Harper, there's no rush. They have four boxes of compiled information and dossiers against them as it is and have all kinds of connections between the Death Army, Harper, Fletcher and that skank Nina Myers. Looks like it's going to be an open and shut case- when it happens. Jack told me the preliminary plea hearing of Harper Vs State of California is set for February 10th- plenty of time to get things straight again in my own mind and make sure that Mike is alright.

Which he is. Thank god.

As I put down my sixth chocolate glazed doughnut and sip my coffee, I groan and tug at the waistband of my pants, "I seriously cannot eat any more. But thanks."

"You feeling better?" he grins.

"Much, though I think I'm going to be climbing the walls soon with all this sugar. You?" I pick off a couple of napkins from the dispenser and wipe the grease from my fingertips, wondering if the doctors have checked Mike out yet.

"Like a big weights been lifted," he answers, perfectly describing the way I feel. "Jane and the kids are getting a flight up here tomorrow.. I'm just so happy he's awake, Nadia. I thought I'd lost him again."

"Yeah, I know," I look down at my beverage thoughtfully. "What he's been through: I mean, he wasn't even supposed to be a field agent, y'know? He was supposed to have a nice, quieter job heading up tactical, and look where it's got him." I shrug my shoulders and breathe out, "I guess I've learned that at CTU, there's no such thing as a 'quieter' job."

"What do you think's going to happen?" Ben asks, drinking his own double-double appreciatively.

"Well, I guess I'll be called as a witness to testify at the trial," I say quietly, "I'll have to head back to LA in a couple of days to be de-briefed and---"

"No," Ben interrupts with a little smile on his face, "I _meant_- what's going to happen with you and my brother?"

"_Oh_," I pause abruptly and then shrug disconcertingly, trying not to show my own worry on that particular issue, "I have no idea…"

2424242424242424242424

I stop by his room a couple of hours later, as promised, my stomach churning with nerves. He's sat up in bed, watching- to my astonishment- a chat show. With avid fascination. Maybe that bullet to his brain did a little more damage than we thought. 

Jerry Springer.

Who'd have thunk it?

"_Peeping Toms Attack_?" I say sceptically, reading the tag line.

He turns to the door and smiles when he sees me, immediately switching off the TV. "Hi.."

"Hi," I sit by his bed, concerned, I hope he hasn't been watching talk shows all afternoon; "did you get some rest?"

"I slept," he assures me. "Then the docs checked me over- apart from monitoring my wounds- and I'm going to need some pretty intensive Physio on my shoulder- everything's fine, I just have to take a lot of rest and they want to keep an eye on my brain activity," he snorts a little at this, looking scornful; "_then_ I showered and watched a little more TV. Springer re-runs mostly and a little Maury Povich: '_I got my mom off crack'_ and '_you're too fat to make porn_.' Enlightening, really- a terrifying glimpse into the psyche of the 'average' American citizen. Did you get some food?"

A smile plays across my lips at his droll sense of humour- something I could certainly get used to- and the way he volunteered information about himself without me having to press him for details; "yes. I did. Thank you. Your brother took me to Tim Horton's. As a matter of fact…" I hold up a little paper bag for him, "I brought you something for later. Honey cruller and a Boston cream. Ben said they were your favourite." I never would have figured Mike to have a sweet tooth, but hey. 

He looks satisfied by the fact that I have some food in my stomach and surprised by my gesture. "They are. Thanks. I'm glad you ate something too."

Both of us fall silent then. I don't know what the hell to say or do. I hate that he's in here, because of me. I hate that I can't just be honest with the way I feel about him because I'm so damn scared he'll reject me. I hate that every time I like a guy, I seem to screw it up. He could have died last week and it would have been my fault. Just like Milo. 

I'm just so glad he's ok. Beyond glad, I'm ecstatic. He's looking a hell of a lot better than he did this morning actually, I reflect as I study him- there's colour back in his face and despite the patch of shaved hair on his head and the bandages on his chest, his expression is more animated than I've ever seen it. The deathly white pallor is gone too. Wow, I guess a brush with death sure puts a lot of things into perspective.

"Mike—"

"Nadia—" he says at exactly the same time. We both smile, albeit awkwardly. Awkwardness between _us__? Wow, big surprise._

"You first," he offers, his eyes hooded.

"I—I just wanted to say I'm sorry, you know, for everything," I mumble, a little self conscious with his complete undivided attention on me all of a sudden, "you could have died and it would have been my fault and mph---"

I'm cut off by him pressing his index finger against my lips. I start a little at the unexpected contact.

"_I'm_ the one who needs to say sorry. Not you." His voice is blunt, but not in his usual way.

"But—"

"Shhh.." again with the finger. Wow. That's kind of a turn on actually.

_Stop it Nadia!_

"Nadia, I've been a complete asshole to you," he says clearly, but I can see the self-deprecation in his face. "Even before this whole thing, months ago. I was a total jerk to you and there's no excuse for it. Then when I came back to CTU I was even more of a bastard.. with all the other stuff that was going on, the _last_ thing you needed was to be stuck with some guy like me who can't even be nice to you when you're upset.."

"Mike---" I say softly, seeing how he's clearly struggling with his words. This isn't necessary, it really isn't.

"…and I know I probably made the whole thing so much worse for you. I've always had problems expressing my feelings, god this is so hard—"

"Mike.." my eyes soften as I see how tough on himself he's being. Doesn't he realise I'd never have gotten _through_ this whole thing without him?

"No," he takes a deep breath, "I need to say this, Nadia. Before I lose my nerve, let me finish, ok? I need to try and for _once_, say what I'm feeling in a way that doesn't cause confusion, misinterpretation or make either one of us feel mad or hurt, ok?"

I nod, wordlessly, a little taken aback by his directness. For once he's not trying to change the subject or skirt around the issue. I get the feeling he really wants to talk, so I let him.

"What we did in the motel—" the tips of his ears turn red again as he struggles for the right words, "I don't regret it, but the way it _happened_, that's not the way I wanted it to be with us. Not the first time we…um-- Because I thought about it, I mean I thought about it _a lot_." he breathes out again, shakily this time, and his entire face is red at that admission.

"I wish I was more articulate, but I'm just not--I know I upset you when I said it shouldn't have happened but that's not the way I meant it at all, I could never regret making love to you, _ever, _because to me that's what it was, it wasn't just sex…" 

I gaze at him speechlessly. He's doing fine, babbling a little, admittedly, but I don't want to interrupt him. Not when he's on some kind of roll. 

"Nadia, in that motel room… what I said.." his face flushes and he's stammering a little now, "about being around you.. _that _was why I didn't want to be the person protecting you through all this, because being around you I _forget_ to be professional and it's hard to remain distant from the situation with—with the way I feel about you."

He's looking at me waiting for me to say something. "How _do_ you feel about me?" I finally manage to get out, uncertain as to what he's trying to say.

His eyes widen a little, as if he's surprised that I don't already know. "Nadia—I'm in love with you."

2424242424242424

_**Doyle..**_

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Ok, so maybe I'm not exactly the best speaker, I'm not great with words after all and even less terrific at spilling my guts and emotions, but the second I say that sentence I can see that for once, I said _exactly_ the right thing. My heart is in my mouth, but when I see her break into this amazing smile, I realise that sometimes you have to take risks. This one was _definitely_ worth it.

"You love me?" she asks incredulously, like she can't quite believe it.

"Yes." I must be pretty damn wonderful at keeping all my emotions inside, because she looks truly stunned at my revelation. I instantly deduce that in future I'm going to be a lot more forthcoming, especially if it brings a smile like that to her face. I made her smile. Just by being honest. Go figure.

"What I said about Milo…" I mumble, looking down; "I know that really hurt you. I could see it in your face." I hate to rock the boat, really, but if I'm being honest I might as well hit her with both barrels at once. 

"It did hurt me," she admits honestly and the atmosphere instantly changes, "I cared about him."

Pain fills my throat; "oh," I say thickly. _Why did I say that? Why?_

"But I care about you, too," she states honestly, "but not in the same way as him."

_Oh god, I read this all wrong. _She doesn't like me back- I totally misinterpreted that smile. I think I might throw up. Disappointment chokes me and I feel kind of like I did in that motel room all over again.

"I didn't _love_ Milo," she says simply.

I lift my head as she continues, daring to hope that maybe this is all going to turn out alright after all.

"He was smart and funny and maybe if the circumstances had been different then the two of us could have had something," she meets my eyes and I feel hope rising in me once more; "… but I think that if Milo and I _had_ been going to get together, it would have happened already, way before you came to LA. We'd been skirting around each other for months."

I'm practically holding my breath.

"…then _you_ walk into the building that day, and you're throwing your weight around like a complete pain in the ass," she half smiles at this, "and you're interrogating me and arguing with me and I can't get far enough away from you.. at _first_ anyways.." It's a full blown smile by now and I find myself smiling cautiously back at her.

"…Milo's telling me you're a jerk and _I'm_ thinking that maybe you're just misunderstood," she continues carefully, "but the way you covered for him even though he thought all that stuff about you, told me that you weren't as bad as he made out."

I swallow at the look in her eyes.

"…So I found myself wondering more about you," she concludes, "and even Milo noticed it. He told me it was ok if I had feelings for you, because that's the kind of guy he was," she smiles a little sadly at this, only it's bittersweet.

"H—he did?" I ask, feeling bad, but at the same time, recognising the Milo of old in her story, before our friendship got screwed up in Denver. "I should have respected him more, Nadia. He was a hero."

She nods and she doesn't have to say anything else, but she does anyway. "So are you."

Fuck it, my eyes kind of tear up a little at _that_. I'm not a hero, not by any stretch, but it means a lot to me that she thinks I am.

"I love you, Mike," she tells me softly and my heart thuds a little more quickly at how good it feels to hear those words for the first time in my whole life. "And don't ever compare yourself to anyone else, because I fell in love with you just as you are- pain in the ass, arrogance and everything."

"Then you must be even crazier than I am," I say without thinking and I'm astonished when she bursts out laughing. It's a nice sound.

"Yes," she answers. "I must be. You know, I kind of like it when you talk and open up to me like this. It's all I wanted from you that time we wound up fighting in the car."

"I know," I answer, as she takes my hands and twines her fingers with mine, "and I'm sorry for all the times that I hurt you by _not_ being honest with you and not talking, and whatever you want to know about me I'll tell you."

She looks at me expectantly so I rack my brains.

"Uh… well, I'm _really_ intolerant of people who dress up their pets- especially when they dress boy dogs as girl dogs- what the hell is up with that? I like to hang up on tele-marketers. Oh, I was scared of the dark until I was about thirteen- Ben used to hide under my bed and jump out at me, pretending to be the Bogey Man, and I'm scared of spiders because he used to put them in my bed too."

Her eyes are a little wide at all the stuff that comes spilling out of my mouth but she doesn't seem to be stopping me so I plough on; "I was a chess club nerd at school- I mean, we're talking major full-on geekage- I had pocket protectors and everything. I was in stars and planets club too, Ben used to call me an "over achiever.."" I make little quotation marks with my fingers and by now she's looking a little dazed at the sudden onslaught of information.

"…the first time I got drunk was at my high school prom, and that was only so I could block out my date. Oh yeah--my favourite food in the world is mustard- the hotter the better…"

She arches a brow at this, though she's smiling now; "you _do_ realise mustard's a condiment, right?" 

"…oh, and I'm allergic to shellfish. It makes me break out in really big hives and—" 

"Mike..." she interjects patiently.

"Yes?" 

"Sometimes it's good _not_ to talk," she looks at me very pointedly and I suddenly understand what she was wanting in the first place. 

What? Oh. _Oh_...

Then her lips are on mine and I kind of forgot what I was going to say anyway.

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**A/N: **Was going to write a little more here, but it seemed to come to a natural end. Only the epilogue to go after this one. Hope you liked it!


	28. Chapter 28

**EPILOGUE: 24-7**

**A/N: **Ok, final chapter. _At last_ (happy dance!!). Oh, and a little more romance/fluff too, for those who requested that! Thanks for sticking with me for this long, and I really, really appreciate all your reviews!

_Seven months later…_

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_**Doyle…**_

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"Holy crap! How many pairs of shoes do you _own_?" I ask her irritably as I heave the huge plastic storage carton into the living room, struggling under its vast weight, and dump it rather ungallantly onto the carpet. A couple of pairs of stilettos come spilling out of a box, and those flat things that Nadia calls ballet pumps that she never even seems to wear because she's so damn tetchy about her height, yet STILL keeps on buying. Women. I'll never understand 'em, still, I guess if they couldn't buy shoes, the universe would probably implode on itself or something.

My eyes fall on a pair of silver Manolo Blahniks (I'm ashamed to admit I've learned a lot about shoe designers these past few months, mostly by osmosis) with skyscraper heels that don't seem to have been _worn _yet and I roll my eyes in exasperation. Ok, she's _totally_ been hiding some of these from me.

She smiles innocently as she looks up from the kitchen counter where she's unpacking a stack of ceramic plates, wrapped carefully in newspaper and running some soapy water in the sink. "A girl's prerogative," she tells me, looking angelic; "you can _never_ have too many pairs of shoes."

I look sceptically at all the numerous boxes and suitcases taking up all the available living-room floor space in our new place; "and bags... and clothes..?" I supply, trying to hide my smile because I just can't be mad at her right now. "You can only wear one pair of shoes at a time y'know- unless you grew an extra set of legs I don't know about. It's like a woman's retailers in here."

"I like to shop," she says defensively, but that twinkle's in her eyes again. "And you weren't complaining about that lacy lingerie I bought from _Panty Raid_ last weekend were you?"

I throw a knowing look back at her over my shoulder and disappear out to the station wagon for the last of the boxes. Yeah, I'm a hypocrite, it's really best to not answer that because I enjoyed that particular shopping excursion as much as _she_ did. Well, the fashion show afterward anyway.

Two more trips. For god's sake, these things are heavy.

'_Belts'_ it says in Nadia's neat writing on the cardboard flap; then underneath is added: _'work belts, casual belts and shiny buckle belts.' _What the hell?! An entire box of belts? Who the _hell_ has this many belts? More to the point, who categorises their clothes like that? My shopaholic girlfriend, that's who. Maybe we should have gone in for a place with more closet space.

And... I peer at the writing on the other box in disbelief. Yes, I am reading this correctly. _Bikini's_. A huge cardboard box full. Well, that's pretty cool actually. I never knew she had _this_ many. I'll be damned.

Phew. Done.

"Well, that's the last of it," I announce, gratefully as I dump the last box on the sofa impatiently, crossing to join her in the sparkling kitchen as I wrap my arms around her, "and I'm not eager to repeat _that_ experience again in a hurry."

"Oh yeah?" she sets the plate down into the water carefully- it's so cute how she's all house-proud with our new stuff and she should be, we spent a damn fortune in Pottery Barn- that shopping trip was the longest day of my life, I'll tell you that; "what do you want to do instead?"

"I can think of a few alternatives," I ponder the question with a smile as she dries her hands then wraps them around my neck and kisses me, her body sliding against mine in the sunny, open-plan kitchen.

Instant distraction. My mind instantly loses all trail of coherent thought. _Not fair_. I look down at her accusingly; "Hey... didn't _you_ say we should get all the unpacking done right away and then—"

She cuts me off with another warm kiss, "well, I already did some unpacking and I made up the _bed_. I mean... if you're interested that is. My clothes can wait."

I grin and scoop her up in my arms. "Say no more. I'm already there."

We decided to move in together. Things have well, evolved between us I guess. Pretty quickly.

Oh, ok I'll admit it. I'm head over heels, stupidly in love with her and my big confession in the hospital? _That_ was only the tip of the iceberg, I tell her as much everyday and I kind of like being able to admit my feelings to her so openly, even though its a completely alien concept for me. Sometimes she jokes that I rarely shut up now but I know she likes _this_ Mike Doyle a hell of a lot better than the old one, and she's not the only person to feel like that. Ben's forever ragging on me for being 'whipped' and constantly asks if I had a personality bypass by mistake when I was in that hospital.

Honestly? I figure that maybe that bullet _might _have had some kind of impact on my personality actually- whacked some kind of little switch in my brain that makes me spill my guts about every inconsequential little thing, or maybe its just the effect _she_ has on me. Either way, it feels kind of strange to feel happy, but I'm not complaining. Not at all.

Since I got out of hospital and we came back to LA, we've barely been apart, we haven't even spent a night away from each other yet, which is exactly the way I like it, and we were near as damn it living together anyway, even with our own separate places. To tell you the truth, I'd actually forgotten what my own apartment looked like. She was all cute and protective over me as I healed from the shooting and went through rehabilitation, and _damn_, even only after a couple of weeks of dating, I realised how much I wanted her to be around me all the time. It's not just her patience, it's her unnerving honesty and how straight to the point she is. It's refreshing to be with someone who's actually crazy enough to care about _me_ despite everything I've said and done, although it's a little scary too.

A fresh start- for me, for both of us.

In more ways than one.

I never thought I could let anyone in, let anyone love me. I thought it would compromise my work, my life. That it would mean relinquishing my carefully preserved self-control. Nadia managed to get right under my barriers. I love her more and more as I get to know her, which I know is a kind of sappy thing to admit, but I don't mind saying it, I mean I don't broadcast it or anything and I don't shoot my mouth off to Ben about our relationship as we prefer to keep it private (particularly on the down-low at work), but you get the picture.

Our first date, a couple of weeks after I was discharged from hospital was pretty memorable- I had a fancy restaurant all planned in the valley, candles, wine- I brought her some flowers, did the whole gentlemanly thing and she seemed pretty impressed and I thought my luck was pretty much in there, I mean, I _am_ a guy after all and we'd not had sex since that first time but hell, I'd been thinking about it. A lot. Only on the way there, my car broke down right on the freeway and both of us wound up covered in engine oil (it ruined her dress- boy was she mad) and we had a big fight about how to change the tire- more so because I was embarassed it had happened than anything else. She was adamant her way was quicker when _I_ knew it wasn't and I told her as much. Needless to say after a silent bus ride with both of us shooting pissed off looks at each other the whole time, we then made up pretty quickly when we got back to her place: hence the memorable part. My luck _was_ in after all.

Second date didn't fare much better, though we actually made it to the restaurant this time- some idiot waiter had shoved some kind of crab preservative in the salad dressing and my face swelled up like a balloon. To say Nadia was pretty freaked was an understatement. Cue a trip to the emergency room to be administered antihistamines, but at least she stayed with me though I _was_ beginning to think maybe we were cursed. We didn't get to have sex that night, though with the way I looked, I can't say I blamed her.

Third time seemed to be the charm though I _was_ expecting the worst- we actually made it through dinner unscathed, no bomb threats, (hey, I really _was_ expecting the worst) no car malfunctions, no freaky allergic reactions to food. A nice cozy meal in a tapas restaurant followed by a movie. I finally believed that maybe there was a chance for us after all. Two months or so later, and I don't even remember who suggested it (oh, ok it was me) we decided that maybe we should look for a place together. Driving back and forth was getting a little arduous, not to mention wasting time that we should have been spending together doing more fun stuff.

It's been pretty tough though, _aside_ from all the fun stuff- I mean, I never lived with anyone before- let alone working together as well. It was totally backtracking on everything I'd ever believed in, but believe me, she's worth it.

Getting used to someone else's habits has been a bit of a culture shock too, even just the little habits I've picked on by staying over at her place or her crashing at mine, so god knows what its going to be like in future. For example: Nadia likes to sleep in late _every single morning_ and takes up the whole damn bed, sprawled out everywhere and hogging the sheets so I freeze my butt off. I turn over during the night and it's seriously icicle city down there.

She leaves her millions of shoes lying in the hallway _right where I can trip over them_, and her usual movie of choice is _always_ some sappy romantic comedy. Goddamnit, I _hate_ Hugh Grant. I hate his floppy hair and his pretentious accent and his inane ramblings. He's such a one-dimensional actor, but last time I tried telling Nadia that she near enough bit my damn head off. Not that I'm jealous of his dapper good looks or anything.

_She_ sometimes complains that I play my CD player too loud- she hates my taste in music, and she's forever goading me over my inherent love of the Bronco's, who aren't doing too well this season. Infact, she can be downright insulting about them at times. I'm a little messier than she is too (ok a LOT messier), which I don't think went down all that well at first, but we're getting by.

Silly, inconsequential things can spark little arguments between us on occasion, but when you get down to it they actually make me love her even more. Making up is always the fun part. She's not perfect, but neither am I, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

We eventually wound up putting down a deposit for some cute little condo in Anaheim, which Nadia adored right away. If you ask me, it's the close proximity to Disneyland that does it for her as her face kind of lights up whenever we go there and she screams like a little kid on the Matterhorn, but whatever. It's a great place, right in the hills off Dewcrest. It's all granite countertops, tiled floors and plush carpets and a monster fireplace which I can't wait to snuggle in front of with Nadia when the nights start getting a little cooler. Yeah, I gotta admit- I'm pretty attached to this condo myself, though the mortgage payments are through the roof.

We both went back to work after the court hearing- we had to, to pay for this place.

Harper's was a concrete case as we all suspected and with the evidence Nadia had against all those guys and Myers Death Army in her little dossiers that I bitched about so much, they all went down. More than thirty eight suspects were discovered in all, spread across the US and in Frankfurt. The DA had a field day with all the paperwork.

They're locked up for a long time. Infact, they'll probably die in prison if the Supreme Court has anything to do with it. The Pelican Bay State Prison for Harper and Fletcher, just like Jack requested. He even got the say-so on which cellie's they should be placed with- seems like Jack has a lot of clout in matters like that.

I was so proud of the way Nadia held up in court and she got another commendation citing her review of the case from Division which she totally deserves. Along with the commendation she got in Detroit, I'm starting to think she's collecting them. I got some kind of bravery award too, which isn't really that big a deal. I might hang it in the bathroom or something, I mean, if I get any say so over the decor in this place. I think Nadia has a whole extreme-home-makeover thing going on in that head of hers.

At CTU things are pretty different now. I'm heading up tactical now (_finally_-as intended. I get my own office and everything), Morris is heading up Comms and we have to work pretty closely together so I'm trying to bite my tongue when he pisses me off, which he has the tendency to do a lot, but we're getting on a lot better, though on occasion I'm still tempted to wring his neck.

Chloe's on maternity leave after having a baby girl and Jack Bauer's surprisingly back heading up Field Ops which I think was something he missed pretty badly, but he still goes to visit Audrey on weekends sometimes. He's a pretty decent guy, though he constantly ribs me over my relationship with Nadia, making reference to the time he walked in on "_the first time you guys hooked up- boy was your face red!_" and a particular favourite catchphrase of his for a while was; "_hey Doyle, I thought you didn't mix work with your personal life?_" but that's kind of died down a bit now. I didn't know Nadia's 'death glare' was so effective to people besides me, but I guess you learn something new everyday.

Buchanan's been making noises about retiring but Karen managed to talk him out of it, at least for a little while longer. The two of them recently renewed their wedding vows, which we went to and had a blast. Bill's pretty adamant that when he _does _go, (he intends to head to DC sometime next year) Nadia should get his job, but she seems to be pretty happy back being his second-in-command at the moment.

You'd kind of expect us to get sick of each other as we're literally together 24-7, but we never do.

It's all good.

"I love you.." Nadia kisses my neck, pulling off my shirt as we tumble onto our new king-size bed, as she runs her hands down my chest and flashes me _that _smile.

Hell yeah. It's _definitely_ all good.

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**A/N: **(experimentally cracks fingers and ponders what she should write about next...)

I have a couple of fluffy/humour one-shots coming up set somewhere after this story, in this universe- Nadia/Doyle, Chloe/Morris and a little Jack. Look out for them soon and thanks again for reading!


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